


Where the Heart Lies

by MudaMuda



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Age Difference, Arranged Marriage, Blackmail, Cardverse, Cheating, Extremely Dubious Consent, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pirates, Revenge, Rivalry, Royalty, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2020-09-02 00:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MudaMuda/pseuds/MudaMuda
Summary: Cardverse AU.In a world where social status divides the obscenely powerful from the merely wealthy, pirate captain Arthur Kirkland has grown tired of chasing at the heels of the upper class to earn a living. Though his exploits are legendary, stealing from royalty just doesn’t pay like actually being royalty does.Through some old-fashioned persuasion (and a stroke of luck), he exchanges his pirate life for a cushy position as the Queen of Spades. But he soon finds that high society is an entirely different type of cutthroat than he’s used to.





	1. The Pirate

To every sailor, merchant, and traveller crossing the sea these days, it was well known that Captain Arthur Kirkland had an appetite for creative forms of violence. 

People would discuss his apparent murderous proclivity with a mixture of disgust and zeal, as if every night he sat down with a cup of tea and thought of new ways to reinvent himself, greedier and more bloodthirsty than he had been the previous night. 

While Arthur was satisfied with his reputation as an excessively fearsome marauder, he felt that ‘appetite’ was perhaps too strong a word. It would be more accurate to say that he was no  _ stranger  _ to violence, as piracy as a trade precluded it. Sometimes, that violence was deliberately excessive. That was the key:  _ sometimes _ . 

A man, of course, did not become the King of the Seas, Scourge of the Silk Routes, and a colorful variety of nastier epithets without causing a bit of spectacle now and then. But any successful pirate knew that pursuing violence for the sake of violence was best avoided, with the exception of two cases: 

  1. until it was necessary, or 
  2. one could make a spectacle of it. 

As a man with a taste for riches and pleasure, and an unwavering aversion to any sort of authority, Arthur made an investment in violence to keep his status quo secured. Violence was his profession.

But it was not often creative. When murder was necessitated, and with no one around to report on the spectacle, cutting a man’s throat was carried out with the quick, thoughtless efficiency of a professional.  The dead were thrown overboard, spoils were tallied up and distributed, and when the opportunity to raid a ship presented itself again, the cycle repeated.

Again.

And again. 

And again.

It was these times, when the routine of piracy became suffocating, that were the most dangerous. When the seas were too calm, and he floated for weeks without encountering more than a fishing boat, Arthur became ravenous for action. For purpose. For  _ more.  _

He would become incautious, pursuing danger in the hope it would bring his life meaning. Sometimes the risk would pay off.

Other times, like today, he found himself behind bars. 

After the guards had finished beating him, he was left curled up on his side with his arms shackled. 

He was hot and cold at once-- searing pain fighting for dominance with the chill of the damp stone floor of the Fu Jiao port jail.

The stench of burnt flesh still hung in the air from the brand that was seared into the back of his hand. With his wrists locked together, there was no way to keep the irons from chafing the freshly melted skin in the shape of a lotus. His stomach rolled, and he fought back vomit at the smell.

He’d been branded like an animal. Marked as the property of the Empire. 

And all he could think was that this little port jail was nothing compared to where he would be transferred shortly, if his brand was anything to go by. 

The central prison of the Golden Empire shared the lotus crest of the imperial family with which he’d been branded. He tried not to think about the stories he’d heard about the prison. The good men he’d lost to that institution. 

Now,  _ there  _ was a place that revelled in creative violence. 

To add to his discomfort, the air was sultry and thick with humidity from the last dregs of fog evaporating off the coastline. Hot rays of late-morning sun sliced through the ragged clouds, warming the cell. Arthur pushed himself up, his battered body protesting loudly, and shuffled to a darker corner.

No sooner had he moved when he heard voices outside, approaching the jail.

A door banged open down the hall, and two men came in, arguing in the language of the Empire.  Arthur recognized one as the voice of the sultan of the ship he had tried to rob this morning. 

The king of an impressively large empire further inland on the Eastern Continent, Sadik Adnan was transporting cargo that had proven too tempting for Arthur to resist. 

But the sultan seemed to be more concerned with another matter, than having been attacked by pirates. 

His booming intonation echoed down the rows of empty cells as he fought with his companion.

“Yao, all I’m saying is, don’t make a record of the incident.”

“How would I manage that?” replied the other man, Yao, in a quiet, but sharp voice. “News of the attack has already begun to circulate. Documentation will be expected to be provided to the port administrators, at the least.”

“Fine. Let the observers talk,” the sultan conceded. “But you cannot include...  _ that  _ detail in the report. And certainly no publicity. If word got out… Of course, it would be worse for him than for me…” 

The sultan stumbled over his words for a moment. 

“For all it matters, the prince was  _ not  _ with me. No, in fact, make no mention of him at all,” he said.

“It’s just protocol to do this,” said Yao. “As I have said, you are high profile royalty, and news of the attack has been circulating, considering the Empire had to assist in defending your ship from the pirates. A ship log documenting all goods and passengers must be provided for legal purposes, to attest that the Empire recognizes the incident happened in its waters, but is not held liable for any goods lost or stolen.”

“I’m not going to hold the Empire liable,” snarled the sultan. “I just don’t want his name permanently ruined because the Empire has beef with the Yama.”

A ray of sun cut through the clouds, and the glare baked the stone through the cell window. Arthur scooted out of the beam and into a cooler part of the cell to resume eavesdropping. The pair sounded like they had stopped just before the corridor lined with cells. Rough iron dug into his cheek as he pressed against the bars, straining to hear the conversation.

“He’s not even supposed to be in this country,” the sultan continued. “Everyone thinks he’s in the capitol in the southern provinces, studying for the government exams. You  _ know  _ how bad it would look, for an unmarried prince to be on a leisure trip with me, on the same ship.”

“The Empire  _ does  _ value its partnership with your kingdom. We would not damage that relationship by spreading this information about him if you do not wish it,” drawled Yao. “Unless… perhaps, you decide not to go through with the marriage.”

“You think I’m the type to ruin a young man’s reputation like that? I  _ am  _ the suitor he chose.”

“I am not accusing you of anything, Great Sultan,” said Yao. “However, unless I am mistaken, your engagement has not been finalized, and this information is valuable to the state. Hiding it could cost me. It is less tenuous for me if I let it be known.”

“Ah, bullshit. You just want to have something to sneer about in court for the next month.”

“It will cost me nothing to give his name to the press. But it will cost you to keep it secret.”

“Is that a threat, Minister?” growled the sultan.

“No,” said Yao crisply. “I feel indifferent about exposing the affair of an enemy of the Empire.”

“Now, you listen to me. Take inventory of whatever you need for the Empire’s records, but do not allow it to be publicized that he was a passenger on my ship. Can you manage that?”

Yao hummed in thought. 

“That will come under the tune of a considerable bribe,” he said.

“Name your price,” the sultan grumbled.

There was some shuffling. An exchange was made.

“Consider it done,” said Yao, now bright and agreeable. “I will arrange lodging, where you and the prince may remain until transport is available.”

“I’ve got lodging. I’m heading there with him now. You can’t just leave a prince alone in a port like this one. There could be pirates lurking around.”

“Of course,” said Yao. 

If he had use of his arms, Arthur would have scratched his head. He had caused more trouble than he thought. Sinking a ship was one thing, but nearly exposing an affair? That was new. 

He would usually find these things out later, through word of mouth or emblazoned on newsprint: this person he had robbed was now ruined, or that country had banned him from entering their ports. 

In a less precarious situation, would have savored this extra bit of trouble he had caused, reveling with smug pleasure at the misfortune of these haughty nobles.  But being held in irons, awaiting transfer to some hellish prison dampened his enthusiasm. As did the sultan’s next statement:

“Speaking of pirates, where is the bastard? Did you capture him?”

“The captain was arrested. He should be down the hall,” said Yao.

“Down the hall? Here!? This, I have to see.”

As he heard the sultan briskly approach, Arthur moved away from the bars so as not to get hit or spat on. The sultan did not try to hit him, however. He just stood outside the cell and laughed at him. 

“Him! This guy doesn’t look so tough. I could take him hand to hand,” he chuckled, gesturing at Arthur, who glared through the bars at him. 

Hand to hand, Arthur had no doubt he could take him. The sultan had an advantage on him in two directions, being both tall and broad.

His beard was neatly trimmed, and he was dressed rather inconspicuously for a king, in linen trousers and an unembellished overcoat. His demeanor was boisterous and jolly at once, tough but affectionate. He gave the impression of one of those vivacious, middle-aged philanderers, with money to throw at whatever they pleased.

Arthur figured the prince he was screwing was beautiful, much too young for him, and was being spoiled rotten. 

The sultan’s eyes drifted to the raw imprint on Arthur’s hand. His nose wrinkled.

“A lotus, huh? Bad luck; but I guess it’s fitting that you’ll be transferred to the Inner Circle,” he said. His stare hardened. “I heard they’re having a typhus epidemic there. Lucky you.”

“I’ve had worse,” said Arthur. 

“No one’s had worse than mainland prison,” scoffed the sultan.

“Are you speaking from experience? What were you in for, Great Sultan?” asked Arthur tartly. “Bribery?”

The sultan’s expression became darker.

“Bah. I’m not going to hear a sanctimonious lecture from a pirate,” he muttered, turning to leave. He brushed past Yao on his way down the hall. 

The door creaked open, and then thudded shut behind him, leaving Arthur and the minister alone.

Yao was a slight figure, draped in expensive, black silk like he had come straight from a cabinet meeting in the palace. His bright eyes and pointed face gave him a vulpine appearance. 

He flicked his gaze disinterestedly over Arthur, before turning and heading the way the sultan had left.

Arthur leant against the bars and called out to him.

“What sort of stipend do you receive from working in the emperor’s cabinet? Give me a figure. I’ll double it, if you set me free,” he said. Like the sultan, he also often relied on bribery to get him out of tight spots. There was nothing that could not be accomplished with enough money. 

The minister turned back, and smiled placidly. His black hair, pulled back in a slick queue, swished over his shoulder. His entire disposition carried the elevated, prim and polished handsomeness characteristic of all the high admins in the emperor’s service. 

“It will be more economical to see your prosecution all the way through, considering what a drain you are on the Empire’s resources, when we must chase after you,” he said.

“Don’t pretend you care that much about the Empire,” drawled Arthur. “Take my money, buy another manor and forget this all happened. They can’t possibly pay you more than I can offer.”

Yao waved the cheque from the Sultan. “I have been adequately compensated for the time being.” 

“You’ll accept bribes from royalty but you won’t take the same from a pirate?”

Yao looked at him oddly. “It is bad business to take a bribe from a pirate. I have no idea if you’ll try to steal that money back.”

“That’s fair,” said Arthur, leaning back against the wall of his cell. “But stupid. You’d be an idiot to turn down my offer. You won’t be offered something like this again.”

Yao scoffed, putting his hands in his sleeves.

“I work for the most powerful empire in the world,” he said. “I have status, and more wealth than I know what to do with. You are a felon whose fortune is constantly fluctuating, and whose power lies in how well you can outrun the law. Do you think  _ your sort  _ of money and influence matters to me?”

“Well. If that’s how you feel,” said Arthur, vaguely dejected. A slow, creeping sensation of helplessness stirred inside him. 

“Anyway, the legal documentation for your trial will be drawn up in about a month,” said Yao, switching efficiently to another topic. “You’ve committed so many felonies, it will take a while to account for all of them.”

“You must be pleased that you’re the one in charge of this,” muttered Arthur.

Yao snorted. “Do you think I  _ enjoy  _ having to deal with the complicated administrative processes required to properly document your incarceration, due to your bloated, undeserved popularity?”

“I imagine it’s more fun than what you ordinarily do.”

“And what do you  _ imagine  _ that is?”

“Suck the cocks of better men than you,” said Arthur spitefully.

A smile tugged at the corner of Yao’s mouth, as he slid the check into the front of his jacket. His eyes were gold in the harsh sunlight. 

“In a month’s time, I’ll be taking a position with the Spades, and earning beyond what you could ever dream. By that time, no one will care that you existed,” he said.

\----

That night, an explosion rocked the port.

Guards followed the billowing smoke to the jail. The structure had collapsed on one side, and dust streamed from the crumbled bricks. Dead guards lay paces away from the wreckage. 

The inside of the jail was empty. 

Witnesses were questioned, but none could provide any information as to the whereabouts of the pirate that had been captured that same morning. 

Down at port, the dockhands were of little help, either. Due to intermittent heavy fog, visibility by the shore was limited. 

Consequently, a merchant ship which had docked that afternoon had departed without their knowledge. 

Of course, there was no certainty that the pirate was onboard.

\----

If there was one constant in Arthur’s dynamic life, it was the loyalty of his followers. Though he hadn’t expected them to go to this extent.

In the wake of the disastrous raid, his first mate, Lars, had made the executive decision to rescue him.

“You have my thanks,” Arthur mumbled, once they were alone in his cabin, tearing his eyes from his boots and attempting to look more leaderlike. 

Lars adjusted his pipe in his mouth and gave him a disagreeable look. 

“Have any more bright ideas, Captain?” he asked.

“Don’t be an arse,” muttered Arthur. 

“We were forced to give up nearly everything of value. Including half the heavy arms, to outrun the Empire’s ships.”

“Right, right, let me get a drink before we go into the specifics,” said Arthur, waving him off.

“And we have no liquor,” said Lars.

Arthur stopped, paces from his liquor cabinet, and felt his temper flare. Right, then. He would have to face this sober.

“Do you even have a plan?” asked Lars.

“Plan? Bloody hell,  _ yes _ , I have a plan!” snarled Arthur, turning on him. “You come in here, right after I get out of that shithole, acting like I don’t know what I’m doing? Piss off! It was a--”

He paused. 

_ Mistake.  _

He didn’t make mistakes. Or at least not ones that cost his crew their lives as a direct result of his incompetence. 

He had gotten greedy. That’s what it was.

It was a terrible idea from the start, chasing a noble’s ship without knowing they were in firing range of the Golden Empire ships, which they hadn’t seen through the fog. As soon as the sultan’s vessel fired the emergency flare, they should have disengaged. 

Many others in his crew had been killed and captured in addition to him. Lars had only gone back for him-- another perilous decision-- because Arthur was the face of the largest pirate enterprise on the seas. 

Because that’s what Arthur had: an enterprise, not one single ship. He could  _ take  _ this loss; spring back without much repercussion.

It was his failure-- his pointless loss-- that was unacceptable.

“We’ll lay low and reorganize,” said Arthur, settling down. “As we don’t have the arms for a raid, nor the crew to properly run the vessel.”

“S’ sensible,” said Lars, around his pipe. 

“But we’re not hiding. We’re  _ reorganizing,”  _ Arthur repeated, acidly. “No one captures me and gets away with it. Look at this!” 

He ripped his sleeve up. Lars’ eyebrows twitched as Arthur revealed the raw, blistered lotus. 

“Look what they did to me! I’m not being treated like this ever again! I’m too bloody powerful.”

He jerked his sleeve back down. 

“We’ll set an example for every blue-blood that crosses us. When we reorganize, we’re doing a proper raid, because I’m sick of playing second fiddle to the law.”

“Who will we raid?”

“Spades,” said Arthur. He sprung from his seat and grabbed a map from his collection on his desk. He unrolled it across the table and pulled the lantern from overhead to illuminate the left side of the parchment.

_ Spades.  _ The most prominent and powerful kingdom in the Western Continent; a maritime empire rivalled only by the Golden Empire. Arthur took a sliver of chalk and marked a spot along the coast of the Spades kingdom.

“If we attack them and undermine their trading enterprise, we cut off their supply of goods to the Empire, as the Spades is their primary trading partner,” he said, marking more lines to indicate the trade routes. “Then, with Spades as my stronghold, we’ll add their ships to our forces, and attack the weakened Golden Empire. Once I get  _ them  _ under control, I’ll be the undisputed  _ emperor _ of the seas,” he explained, chalking the paper with considerable violence. 

“That’s… involved,” said Lars. “And it sounds like a death wish.”

Arthur threw the chalk down and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Fine. I’ll be honest. I jumped at the opportunity to attack the Sultan because I’ve been craving something bigger. I can’t keep doing  _ this _ , while people like him watch from their ivory towers. I know I’ve said time and time again that a pirate has no place in bureaucracy-- in the politics of the various royalties of the world. But fuck it, you know?  _ I _ want to make the rules,” he said, slamming his palm on the map.

Lars stared at him. Arthur dropped his gaze and scratched the laquer on the table. 

“I know. It ain’t popular to propose such a thing among pirates, as democratic as we are. Saying we should try bumping elbows with  _ proper  _ elites. But that minister was onto something, I hate to say,” he murmured, lacing his fingers together.

“What was it?”

“Being _established,” _said Arthur. “Having real power is all about _supplying _the goods. That sort of dominance has the ability to alter the politics of an entire continent.”

Lars folded his arms. “We’ve practically cornered the routes on silk. And liquor. And-”

“I’m not talking about the routes,” interrupted Arthur. “I’m talking about the trade  _ markets,  _ and ruling them. _ ” _

“Being royalty?”

“Precisely. See- why does royalty marry off their sons and daughters to other royalty? Concern about the future of the empire they built.” He sighed, putting his face in his hands. “My empire has gotten so big… something’s got to give soon. I can feel it. Piracy ain’t exactly… sustainable, long-term.”

He lifted his head. “But I ain’t running from the life. Abandonin’ my morals and allegiance to all I’ve worked for, and the good people who’ve stood for me. What I’m proposing is… a new chapter, so to speak. What I’ve been thinking is, with my various fleets… it could be enough to overthrow the Spades.”

“Nobles won’t take kindly to a pirate king,” Lars said. “They’ll mutiny before your ass has warmed the throne.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“We could attack the Empire instead. Target a township. Run a base of operations from there.”

“And how long have those bases lasted before they were raided?” asked Arthur. He shook his head. “No. You’re not thinking big enough. It has to be the Spades.”

“The Spades are just as powerful as the Empire, and they’ve been real effective at keeping pirates out of their waters.”

“Not if they don’t see us coming,” said Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words for how hype I am to finally be posting this fic.  
I’ve been in the fanfic game for years, but I’ve never published a longfic before. This is a fun little (...big) project that I started around the same time that I published my first fic on the Archive. I kinda chipped away at it over the course of undergrad, and I never got bored with it.  
Anyway, Cardverse/royalty is my hands-down favorite AU, and pirate!Arthur is delightful to write, so it was only a matter of time before I combined the two.
> 
> Also Wow! ..............All Archive Warnings!  
...............Whoops!! ¯\\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯


	2. The Heir

The print of the blue damask wallpaper blurred as Alfred stared into space.

His younger brother’s voice was a quiet drone on the other side of the desk as he read aloud from the tome of etiquette rules balanced on his arm. Cold, gray drizzle continued to mist the window panes, as it had for the past week. 

Alfred slumped forward over the table and buried his head in his arms, letting out a loud groan. In the silence that followed, Alfred could hear his brother sigh, mark his place in the book, and close it gently. 

“Alfred...” Matthew ventured, in his calm, reasonable way. “Could you maybe… try to be less annoying?”

Without raising his head from the desk. Alfred flicked his book shut so the pages fell together with a satisfying _ flop. _

“Etiquette is _ boring. _ ” 

“This is process.Not etiquette,” said Matthew tiredly, brushing a blond curl behind his ear.

“Whatever. We could be at the beach right now,” muttered Alfred, turning his head and resting his cheek on the table’s surface. 

“It’s raining,” said Matthew. “And the coastline is still closed.”

“Yeah, still…”

“For the last time, you’re not going to fight pirates.”

“You’re so boring. I just want to _ see. _”

“If the battle was close enough to see from the shore,we’d be in trouble,” Matthew pointed out. 

“It would be cool, though… fighting pirates,” murmured Alfred.

Matthew heaved a sigh. “You wouldn’t even know what to do with yourself on a battleship,” he said.

Alfred stared out the window. From the study, he could see the white watchtower, and beyond that, the palace gates, the city, and the grey ocean roiling faintly in the distance. Through the rainy autumn weather, Alfred couldn’t distinguish whether there were clouds or smoke hanging along the horizon. 

It had been more than a day since the distant booming stopped. 

Matt said it was thunder and lightning. Which was reasonable, but the air smelled like smoke, even from this distance. When Alfred went to the courtyard to practice fencing yesterday, the windows were open. Every time a breeze passed through, coming from the direction of the beach, it carried an acrid, sweet scent beneath the saltiness from the sea. 

When he was little, pirates were nothing but the subject of fantasy stories. They were bad guys who stole, and fought, and cavorted. When he was older, he learned pirates were more complicated. They had factions and alliegances, and an order to their mayhem, but they were none of his business. Aristocrats didn’t _ really _have to deal with them, after all. Pirates were a problem for the merchant class; for the navy, and for poor seamen without a title who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Recently, he had heard whisperings of ransomed duchesses, of liquor and silk and narcotics being monopolized, of entire fleets of nobles’ ships being intercepted just outside of port and ransacked. But for the Spades, this had been nothing to worry about. 

Until two months ago, when he was suddenly forbidden from sailing even in his father’s private waters between dusk and dawn, due to a string of pirate attacks. 

A week later, the war broke out, pirates set up a blockade, and no one of any status could sail in or out of the Spades’ busiest port. Commerce ground to a halt, and fear began to take hold.

To Alfred, it was kind of bullshit for such a powerful kingdom as the Spades to have to be truly afraid of pirates, and the rest of the nobility agreed. However, this wasn’t just any pirate that attacked them. This was Arthur Kirkland-- a villain too hated to be a celebrity and too alive to be a legend-- but very famous regardless. 

How amazing to think that there was one man who supposedly could challenge the greatest navy in the west. 

As heir to this navy, Alfred felt he had a duty to turn against the pirates with righteous anger, to make them regret challenging the Spades; to tell them to pay for the crimes to which Alfred actually didn’t know all the specifics. He _ had _to do something heroic, to defend his father’s kingdom. 

Though… when he stopped to consider it, he wasn’t really angry. He had no reason to fight except childhood stories, accounts he’d heard secondhand and crimes of which he had not personally felt the effects.

Which Matthew was too quick to point out. 

“Let me get this straight, Alfred,” he said, rubbing his temples. “You want to stand up in front before the battle and make a speech to _ pirates _about honor and justice? What are you, six?”

“It’s called making a statement,” grumbled Alfred. “Not like you’d know anything about that…”

“You’re all bark and no bite. Let the navy do their job, and you do yours. By _ studying,” _said Matthew, with a pointed glance at his book. 

“But that’s boring,” complained Alfred. “Let’s do something else.”

“No.”

“I’m hungry. Let’s go to the kitchens and get pie.”

“You’re always hungry,” said Matthew.

“Please?” Alfred cajoled.

Mid-whine, a motion outside the window caught his eye. Practically dying of boredom, he snapped his attention to it, hoping it would be _ marginally _more interesting.

The rain was coming down in buckets now, lashing against the windows. Through the water-streaked pane, Alfred could make out tiny figures of a procession coming down the lane to the palace on horseback. He craned his neck, squinting to see if he could recognize any of them. They were practically indistinguishable at a distance, bundled in grey and blue overcoats against the downpour. At the head rode a man in a blue admiral’s greatcoat.

“Hey, dad’s back,” said Alfred, sitting up straight. 

“What, really? Do you think we won?” asked Matthew, looking up. Alfred stood and went over to the window.

“Obviously, we won,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “We don’t negotiate with pirates.”

Matthew approached the window as well. He removed his spectacles and squinted at the party. 

“Who’s that in the red coat?” he asked.

“Red coat?” questioned Alfred.

He turned back and pressed his nose to the windowpane. The horses had changed formation, revealing a man wearing a brilliant, canary-red naval coat. The man’s face was obscured by his hat. He kept his head down as rain pelted him. 

“Dunno,” Alfred murmured. He watched him dismount the horse and disappear with the others into the palace. He pulled back from the window. “Let’s go see the loot we got. The navy always confiscates cool stuff. Maybe dad’ll let me have some of it.”

He wandered out of the apartment. Matthew followed him.

“You know the confiscated stuff probably belongs to other people,” he said. “Considering it’s pirates they’re confiscating it from…”

“They won’t miss a thing or two,” said Alfred.

What loot are you thinking of? Like another dagger?” asked Matthew disparagingly.

“Nah, I’ve got a billion of those. I want something different,” mused Alfred, dragging his fingers along the bannister. 

“Now if it were a set of maps or an annotated sea log,” murmured Matthew, “or a collection of books owned by a famous pirate...”

Alfred threw his head back with a groan.

“Man, you always want the lamest shit. You actually think pirates _ read _?”

“Sure they do! What do you think they do when they’re not fighting?” 

“You’re saying the most successful pirate in the world became the best by _ reading _when he wasn’t fighting?” 

“I absolutely didn’t say that.”

“_ Mattie. _Where’s your sense of adventure?” asked Alfred, turning and walking backwards.

“I _ said, _I-- Wait! Stop!” exclaimed Matthew. He grabbed Alfred’s shoulder, pulling him to a halt just before the top of the staircase that served as an entrance to the receiving hall. 

“What?” said Alfred. 

“It’s him,” whispered Matthew, eyes wide. “Get back.”

Matthew pulled him behind the wall, out of sight. They both peeked out.

“Jeez, you’re really wound up today,” laughed Alfred. “Who’s-”

“It’s _ him,” _Matthew repeated vehemently. “The pirate- Captain Arthur Kirkland! The one in red! Look!”

Alfred followed his line of sight down the marble staircase. Just past the foot of it, in the hall, the group of men lingered, shucking off their drenched coats and hats. The one in the ornate red coat had his back turned.

“I can’t see his face,” Alfred hissed to Matthew. “How do you know?”

“He was turned around a second ago,” Matt hissed back. “It’s definitely him, from the wanted posters.”

Alfred snorted. “How can you tell that from this far away? You’re lying.”

“No I’m not! It’s- Wait, Alfred…!”

Against his brother’s pleading, Alfred stepped out from behind the wall to get a better look.

He propped his chin on his fist and leant over the balcony, waiting to catch a glimpse of his face. 

As the King of the Seas stood in the hall, wringing water from his garments, he was nothing like Alfred had expected. From his wanted posters and the tales he’d heard about him, Alfred thought he’d look bigger and more menacing. 

In person, the captain was short and lanky. But he was striking, with strawberry blond hair and dark, prominent brows shadowing his pale complexion. The corners of his mouth were downturned, giving the impression of a permanent scowl.

He smirked, while handing his coat to a pretty maid, but it was tight-lipped, like he had accidentally eaten a bug. With his sharp nose and thin mouth, it was an unsettling look. He flicked the brim of his hat up and winked at her before passing it off to her as well.

The group continued into the hall, and the captain strutted behind his father. Without his coat, his shoulders were skinny even when he squared them. He had to take two steps for each of his father’s, and seemed annoyed by the brisk pace interrupting his casual swagger. 

Alfred frowned. Tilted his head to the side.

“You know, I thought he’d be scary,” he said to Matthew, who had come out from hiding behind the wall once the pirate retreated. “But he’s kinda…” 

Matthew furrowed his brow. “He’s rakish.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s charming, but depraved,” Matthew said, flatly, like he was reciting out of a book.

“Gross. You think he’s handsome?”

“No. Don’t you ever listen? And what does it matter what he looks like?’ Matthew whispered harshly. “We have the most notorious pirate in the world _ in our palace. Right now.” _

“I’m going to meet him,” said Alfred, pushing away from the bannister. 

“What?”

“I want to meet him.”

“You’re crazy,” huffed Matthew. “He could be-”

“Okay, Matt, you’re going to have to calm down,” said Alfred, rolling his eyes. “There’s no way he won. He’s probably only here to formally sign over all his treasure before he gets locked up. I’ve _ gotta _ meet him before that happens. This guy is a _ legend. _”

Matthew fiddled with his shirtsleeves. “He’s also not, you know… restrained. What if he pulls out a weapon?”

“You’re so boring.”

“At least I’m not a brat,” protested Matthew, clenching his fists. “I don’t have anything to prove to you.”

“You have to prove that you’re not a little bitch,” said Alfred, blowing a raspberry at him. He ignored his brother’s angry sputtering and dashed down the stairs, sweeping his hand along the railing as he descended.

When he reached the bottom, he glanced back to see if Matt had decided to follow. No such luck. He had disappeared, probably going back to study.

_ His loss. _

Alfred shrugged and wandered into the ground floor hallway, toward his father’s meeting room. The rain continued to beat against the windows lining the corridor, muffling the sound of his boots on the parquet floors. Clouds darkened the sky so heavily that the hallway was dim, even with the windows unshaded.

The tall, gilded door to the royal meeting room was shut, with guards at each side of the doorframe, like there were whenever a meeting was in session. Alfred was not deterred. He’d wait outside and eavesdrop until they finished inside. Listening to them arguing with a pirate was much more interesting than studying. From what he could hear, there was a good amount of scuffling going on already. Maybe he could see through the keyhole!

He crept closer, with a placating wink to one of the guards, who was eyeing him with scrutiny. 

Alfred had barely approached, before the door swung open and his father came out with the minister-in-chief in tow. 

“Hey!” Alfred chirped, standing in their path. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m not in any mood for your smart assery, Alfred,” his father said, walking around him. “You’re supposed to be studying.”

The minister-in-chief followed, with a brief nod and a “Your Highness” to Alfred as he passed. 

Alfred hurried after them. 

“Can I meet the pirate?” he asked.

“Not on your life,” said his father. Alfred’s enthusiasm waned, but only slightly.

“Why not?” he asked, catching up to him.

His father sighed, turning to face him. His forehead was creased, and his mouth was tight. 

“Take this more seriously. This man is a dangerous criminal, not an attraction at a festival.”

“We’ve got guards,” said Alfred.

“You are not to interact with him,” said his father. “He’s going to be queen, but-”

“_ Queen?” _exclaimed Alfred. “You’re not seriously-”

“_ But, _it’s only a temporary arrangement. Very temporary. If we’re lucky, he’ll be gone within the month,” his father continued, under his breath. 

This only mildly inconvenienced Alfred.

“Then I’ll have plenty of time to meet him,” he said.

“No. You won’t,” his father said sternly.

Alfred folded his arms. 

“Whatever. You always give in eventually.”

“This time I mean it. And if you argue the matter any further, there will be consequences.”

“Yeah, _ okay, _dad,” scoffed Alfred.

He didn’t mean it. Alfred was sure.

He wasn’t interested in disciplining him. He never did. He always broke, because Alfred was his favorite son.

The creases on his father’s brow deepened. 

“Don’t use that tone with me,” he ordered.

“What tone? I just said I wanted to meet him and you got all defensive,” said Alfred.

“I’m not arguing with you about this.”

“It’s ‘cause you don’t have an argument,” countered Alfred.

His father stuck out his finger to scold him more, as another voice cut in:

“You watch how you speak to your father, boy.”

Alfred snapped his attention toward the meeting room, in time to see the captain emerge and strut towards them, flanked by two other men- probably his own crewmembers. Alfred was about to protest, but in his surprise that the pirate was speaking to _ him _, he could only stutter. 

His father spoke instead.

“You’re not to fraternize with my sons,” he said.

The captain stopped in front of the king. He folded his arms over his skinny chest. Despite the weather, his shirt and shift both hung open to the third button. Two gold chains lay against his bare skin. 

“You let your brats talk to you like that?” he asked, clicking his tongue. 

“I can say whatever I want,” retorted Alfred. 

“You’re in want of a spanking,” the captain said, brushing past him without so much as a glance in his direction.

“Bet you won’t, pirate,” Alfred challenged. 

In one motion, the captain turned and lunged at him. 

Alfred’s nerves sparked. His stomach dropped with anticipation, and he reactively stumbled back, but was caught by the collar of his jacket. 

The guards charged forward, a moment too late. The captain pulled Alfred close and stared him down, his face inches away. Alfred stood motionless in his grip. 

At that moment, the atmosphere in the hall changed, like everyone held their breath at once. 

Alfred’s heart thumped. The pirate’s mouth was twisted up like he wanted to spit, but his eyes were smiling with a wild hunger, as though his soul could not be contained by his body. He stared him dead in the face, and no breath Alfred took could fill his lungs. 

His eyes were bright green, like lightning in a summer storm. 

Then the moment was over, and the captain shoved him away before the guards could pull them apart. He turned his attention back to the king, unaffected.

“Right then, let’s move along,” he said, continuing down the hall. His men went with him. 

Alfred wavered in place, speechless. His father seemed to wisen up a bit, and glared at him. 

“Was that enough for you?” he asked. 

Alfred scowled and crossed his arms. 

“You have no business down here,” continued his father. “I want you studying in your room for the rest of the afternoon.”

Alfred griped, but went up to his room anyway, feeling oddly humbled.

“How did it go? Was he all you dreamed he’d be?” asked Matthew, as Alfred pushed open the door to the apartment. His brother was curled up on the couch with his nose in a book. 

Alfred just grumbled, flopped down on the couch next to him, and buried his face in the cushions. His heart was still drumming against his ribs. 

“What do you think it’ll be like to have a queen?” he asked.

“A queen? Who knows? We haven’t had one since we were born,” said Matthew. Then he paused. Alfred could hear his fingers stop on the page. 

“Wait. Do we… have a queen? Now?” he asked.

Alfred turned his face out of the cushions, and looked up at him. He met his brother’s incredulous stare with a wan smile. 

“I think we lost,” he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These first few chapters took forever to write…
> 
> I hope it's not too obvious that I don’t like worldbuilding. I feel like it's pretty common for these kinds of stories to have super elaborate descriptions of a fantasy world, but this isn't fantasy (it's political drama), and also I was lazy and based 90% of the setting on the real world.  
Like for Spades my thought process was 1) Ocean 2) Preppy New England vibes 3) If the United States had royalty.
> 
> So please imagine Alfred in a blazer, linen shorts, and sperrys (actually don't).


	3. The Spades

The wedding was beautiful, which Arthur credited mostly to the fact that he was the centerpiece.

The attention turned on him presently was not good attention, but he had witnesses, at the very least. A new bevy of loyal subjects, with their fans and lace handkerchiefs held up to their noses to cover the stench of their customs decaying. The luxurious event hall could have crumbled under the weight of their collective fury, raining marble and diamond shards upon him.

It was not as though the courtiers had not been informed of this wedding. Notices were sent out. Nice decorations were put up. The king had insisted they do it properly, as if Arthur were any ordinary queen, just to maintain the order of things.

The king also spent a good deal of time saying “really… this is in the Spades’ best interest”. Because it was, despite the overwhelming disapproval from the ruling class at the morality of the decision. 

To many of the Spades courtiers, who had made their fortunes in overseas trade, or who otherwise had business in international commerce, this marriage was at once a relief and a slap in the face.

In the end, the nobility decided that although they hated having to defer to a pirate, they valued their property and position in the Spades court more. Despite the unconventional choice of queen, they did not want to appear ungrateful by questioning the king’s decision. After all, he had saved them from a lot of trouble by allying with the largest threat to their businesses.

The war itself had been close. Both sides fought to a standstill. It was the King of Spades who stepped in-- a brave soul-- and proposed the truce. Without knowing his enemy’s numbers, the king was probably more willing to ruin some relations overseas with a dodgy alliance than chance losing his kingdom to pirates. 

As Arthur’s forces were scattered around the seas, most in disguise as other vessels, and being lost and regained erratically, they were not explicitly countable to the Spades-- not like the organized battalions of a kingdom’s naval force. In other words, there was no way the Spades could know how many more armed vessels Arthur had in store. Arthur did that intentionally. There was a fair amount of secrecy involved in piracy. 

But in all honesty, Arthur was glad he’d called a truce, because he was running out of forces. 

After that, all pirates with an alliance to Arthur had been issued letters of marque. They had been exempted from punishment for their crimes in the Spades in exchange for their defense capabilities. With this new armada, the Spades’ already impressive naval defenses were all but invincible.

Being queen did not suit Arthur the way being king would have, but he had fought for the position, because placing him just below the highest power in the land solved that troublesome issue of mutiny. But, mark his words, being queen was only the beginning. In the tenuous alliance, the question hung between the pirates and the Spades: who would be the first to break it?

Though in the immediate situation, that question was of little importance.

As the crown was placed on Arthur’s head, a rustle of general disapproval swept through the audience. The loud, emphatic flap of ladies beating their fans harder against the air punctuated the silence. 

Arthur looked into the crowd, at his new subjects, and saw only glares and violence in their eyes. 

_The_ _sass, _he thought. The unbelievable sass, even with his ships docked in their waters, having finished splattering bits of blue-uniformed officers into the sea.

_ It’s too late, _he wanted to say.

And it was absolutely delightful.

\- - - -

After the wedding, in response to his joke about a nuptial suite (and also, despite it), Arthur was transferred immediately to his royal apartment, where he slept alone.

His quartermaster explained away this decision as the king and queen had separate apartments.

And. The king was not in want of his presence at this time.

He strained the words out like this, clipping each syllable like Arthur didn’t _ know _ the king wasn’t raring to consummate his marriage with a pirate. That he didn’t _ know _the king had once had a wife, who had birthed his sons, and that Arthur was a man, and not even a particularly attractive one.

Arthur had no desire to fuck the king either. Even disregarding all the recent murder and discord between them, at 45 and greying, King James was not exactly the type Arthur usually went for. 

Anyway, Arthur was baffled that his joke had been taken seriously. What a strange system this was, with kings and queens. Was it expected, even in the best of circumstances, for two relative strangers without any mutual attraction to sleep together? 

With nothing else to do, Arthur flopped onto his four poster, drew the curtains around himself, and slept.

Sometime later, he was woken by the faint sound of wood creaking, across his bedroom. Footsteps followed; the loud and clumsy type, of someone trying to be quiet. 

Arthur sat up in bed and pulled his dagger from his boot. Another blessing from not having a sexual encounter- he could leave his weapons on. He had not undressed for bed because he did not trust something not to go down on the first night. Something like this.

A sliver of moonlight cut through a gap in the bedside curtains. Yawning, he dug in his pocket and held up his watch to the light, reading a quarter past 1.

So it began. 

There was another soft crack, like a hinge being opened. Arthur frowned. The noise had come from the wrong direction-- the door was opposite his bed. Now he was curious. Was some determined soul tunnelling through his wall?

Arthur raised himself on his knees, watching through the curtains. 

One crack. Then another. And then the faint glow of a candle emerged from the wall and advanced towards him. The light was held too low to make out the individual’s face. Uneasy, Arthur adjusted his grip on his weapon, settling into a crouch.

“Who the hell are you?” he commanded, from the darkness of the curtains. “Show yourself.”

Without even a moment of hesitation, the light bobbed closer. Footsteps pattered across the carpet. The curtains around his bed were flung open.

Arthur could not say he was surprised to see the familiar blond hair and sea-blue eyes, nor the overconfident air with which the prince of Spades walked right up to his bedside without fear of getting his throat sliced. 

Arthur couldn’t help but think he was the spitting image of his father, many years prior-- albeit a fair bit cuter.

The golden light of his candle shone warm against his youthful, suntanned face. The flame licked the edge of the curtain as he held it open with his wrist.

“So, you’re awake now, huh?” he said, with that familiar bratty smirk beginning to curl the side of his mouth. 

Arthur blinked a few times, in the hope that he was dreaming, but the prince remained before him, like an apparition in his white shift. 

“I’m Alfred,” the young man said, offering his hand to shake. “You threatened me a while ago. I’m not supposed to talk to you, but I’m a big deal around here, so you should at least try to remember my name.”

Arthur scowled at him.

“I remember _ very well _ who you are. How did you get in here?” he asked.

“Through the wall.”

“The _ wall,” _repeated Arthur, incredulous. 

“Yeah, _ the wall,” _mocked Alfred. “There are hidden doors that lead to pathways between the rooms. For like, the servants to walk through without being seen. You didn’t know that?”

Arthur hadn’t. He had never heard of such a thing, and couldn’t imagine what trouble this would pose if the prince wasn’t the only one creeping around in the walls.

“Can anyone pass in and out as they like?” probed Arthur, casting a suspicious glance over the prince’s shoulder at the opening in the wall. 

“I did,” Alfred said unhelpfully, ducking out of the curtains and setting his candle on the bedside table. He nodded at Arthur’s hand. “You know, you can put your weapon away now?”

Arthur did no such thing.

“What do you want?” he asked sharply. “You haven’t any business here.”

Alfred ignored him, smoothing out a spot on the bedspread. Getting comfortable, the cheeky brat. 

Arthur could not fathom the reason he had to break into his room in the middle of the night.

“Are you listening to me?” he snarled. 

Alfred rolled his eyes and sat on the bed. Arthur started to threaten him again, but Alfred talked over him. 

“Hey, so, did you really cut out the intestines of the captain of the first ship you ever captured, and hang him off the yardarm of his ship with them?”

Arthur blinked. 

“Did I…”

“Well, did you?” asked Alfred. He punctuated the question with a shrug, but there was a spark of excitement under his adolescent nonchalance. 

Arthur was not sure what to make of this. He scratched his chin. 

“I suppose that’s not entirely… untrue…” he said, eyeing Alfred with distrust.

“That’s disgusting,” Alfred said, but sounded delighted. “What’s the true story?”

“That was some time ago…” murmured Arthur, surprised that he was continuing to humor this ridiculous boy. It was an old memory, one he hadn’t thought about in a long time. His _ first _ captured ship as captain... What _ had _happened then?

Arthur hummed in thought, recalling, 

“I ran him through, then hung him normally, by the neck, once he bled out. He was a large fellow… I don’t think his guts would have supported his weight.”

Alfred leant closer. 

“What about when you slaughter the entire crew of a ship? Do you really mop the bloody deck with their sails and then fly them again?”

Arthur curled his lip. “Not regularly.”

But Alfred was not listening, and kept chattering away:

“What about when you chased the armada of the Sun King into a typhoon, and then cast nets into the water to fish up their gold once the seas were clear?”

Arthur snorted. “The Sun King knows to stay out of my waters. Even if that story weren’t nonsense, it couldn’t have been him. Also, I don’t steal much gold. At least not a fishing nets’ worth. Weighs down the ship. Of course, that also depends on-- ah, erm...” He cut himself off, before he could get pulled into this conversation any deeper. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, why do you care?” 

“Oh,” said Alfred, and then hesitated. He shrugged again. “I wanted to know if there was truth to any of it. O-obviously there isn’t, but the sailors that come to the palace tell all kinds of crazy stories, and... you know...”

“What are you expecting to hear, a fairy tale?” asked Arthur, waving his knife at him. “I’m not here to entertain brats.”

The boy’s ears glowed pink in the candlelight. “I’m not a brat, I’m the prince,” he said.

“You’re annoying,” said Arthur, sitting back on the bed and crossing his legs. He pulled his cigarette case from his trouser pocket. “Where I grew up, young men minded their elders.”

“Where’d you grow up?”

Arthur took the candle from the nightstand and lit a cigarette. “That’s none of your business.”

“Why not?”

Questions kept pouring out of Alfred’s mouth, heedless of Arthur’s glare. When he received nothing but cold silence, Alfred glared right back. 

“You know you answer to me?”

“Oh, _ please, _” scoffed Arthur. “A boy like you?”

“It’s true!” exclaimed Alfred indignantly. “The king’s progeny outrank the non-relatives. I learned that a couple days ago...”

Arthur took a long, calming drag. “I answer to no one.”

“Answer me, _ pirate _,” Alfred demanded, spitting the word with playful self-assurance, like it was a delightful new curse. 

Every crevice of Arthur’s face drew tight, and his displeasure must have been something ghastly presented in the shadow of the candlelight. Alfred stood his ground, giving a cocky, expectant smile in response, showing all his straight, white teeth.

“Listen, boy,” said Arthur tepidly. “See yourself out now, or I’ll throw you out.”

Alfred’s smile didn’t waver. “If you touch me, you’ll be thrown out of the palace.”

“Now, I don’t think your father would risk that.”

“Oh, really?” asked Alfred, leaning forward. “You wanna try something, then?”

With the candlelight behind him, Arthur could see the shadowed outline of Alfred’s body through his shift. He was trim and athletic, if a bit plump around the hips. 

He brought his gaze back up to his bright blue eyes. 

“You’re a rather fetching boy," he said, blowing smoke into his face. "I would hate to have to cut off your nose to teach you a lesson.”

Alfred stifled a cough. “You wouldn’t. I’m the heir.”

“If you remind me of that again, tomorrow your brother will have to take your place,” said Arthur.

Alfred snickered.

“You’re not scared of me at all,” said Arthur with dry amusement, putting out his cigarette on the hem of Alfred's shift. 

“Why would I be?” asked Alfred, scooting closer, puffing out his chest determinedly. “You can’t do anything to me.”

Arthur held his gaze level with Alfred’s, and turned his knife over in his fingers. 

“How old did you say you were?” he asked.

“I didn’t. I’m almost 16.”

Arthur hummed to himself. “Almost 16… So, I’ll call it 15. And 1, if I’m not feeling lenient...”

What do you mean?” asked Alfred, hesitation creeping into his tone. Finally, he had decided to be wary of Arthur. Regardless, it was too late. 

Arthur yanked him forward by the arm, and Alfred tumbled facedown on the bed. Arthur got behind him, and pinned his arm behind his back before he could run away. 

“Pull up your shift,” he demanded. “To your waist.”

“Fuck you!” snarled Alfred. “If you do anything, I’ll shout!”

Arthur poked his knife into his gut. 

“Pull up your fucking shift or I’ll spill your insides all over the floor.”

Alfred did it obediently. He was shaking all over.

Arthur grabbed the back of his neck and forced him to bend over the edge of the bed. He undid his belt and Alfred, upon hearing the noises of the buckle clinking, became frantic. 

“No! Don’t do that!” he pleaded, his voice cracking with the beginning of a sob. “You’re horrible!”

“Boy, I am many things, but not a rapist,” said Arthur, with curt exasperation. 

“W-what…?” whimpered Alfred. “Wait, really? Then what...?”

“I don’t hold with backtalk,” Arthur snapped. “If this were my ship, I would have you whipped raw for your sass. And, since _ this--” _he gestured around with his knife-- “is now under my command, I think it’s time I made good on my threat.”

“Wh-what threat?”

Arthur snapped his belt off. 

“I have a feeling this is long overdue. I’ll have to make it count, won’t I?”

He drew his arm back and brought the belt down on the swell of Alfred’s bottom. Alfred yelped and swore at him, when he realized just what threat Arthur was making good on.

“I think I’ll give you sixteen. To impress upon you just how bloody old you are, and still acting like a shit,” said Arthur, bringing the belt down a second time.

Alfred started to fight him. He was strong, but not in a good position to get away. Arthur tightened his grip around the back of his neck, and Alfred’s flailing lessened.

"You fucking asshole! I outrank you! You can't do this to me!" he wailed.

"Gonna tell daddy on me?"

"M-maybe..." mumbled Alfred, reddening.

"Fuck no, you won't," cackled Arthur. "He'd agree with me."

As he was spanked, Alfred continued to wheeze out obscenities, interspersed with cries of pain.

"You hit so fucking hard!” he shouted.

Arthur ignored him, pushing his face into the bedspread when he became too loud. And Alfred was _ loud _, yowling like he was trying to outdo Arthur in theatrics.

By the end, he was begging Arthur to stop. 

“No, no, not 16. Please! I’m 15, not 16!”

“Too late. You said “almost”. Own it.”

“It’s just one less!” blustered Alfred. 

“You seem to know exactly what difference one less will make,” said Arthur, and gave him one more. 

After the crack of the belt receded, it was blissfully silent once again, save for Alfred’s quiet whinging. Arthur put his belt back on.

“What do you say,” he asked the quivering lump on his bed, “for being an obnoxious, disrespectful little little fuck?”

“I fucking hate you,” Alfred groaned, clutching his bottom. 

“What was that?” asked Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” groaned Alfred, slightly louder.

Arthur dragged him up by the neck of his shift, and snarled into his face,

“No one disrespects me. I don’t give a _fuck_ that you’re a prince. Next time you look at me wrong, I’m cutting off your nose.” 

Alfred bobbed his head petulantly.

Arthur dug his knife into the side of his nose and snarled, “Did you hear me, _ boy?” _

“Y-yes sir…” stuttered Alfred.

“Get out,” Arthur said, shoving him away. Alfred stumbled back the way he came. 

As his anger subsided, Arthur worried for a moment that he had gone too far. That he was going to hear all kinds of flak from the king, once Alfred ran crying to him.

But as Alfred slunk away, arms folded, and red around the ears, Arthur suspected he had too much pride to breathe a word of this to anyone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it. The kawaii marriage of Arthur to King Jim (I don’t like using OCs, so he’s not in the story very much, dw).
> 
> Also, RIP Alfred’s butt. Still, he only got the lightest shade of corporal punishment Arthur’s used to doling out.


	4. The Jack

Arthur held the tabloid up to the tallow light. A splash of ale he had spilled on the paper earlier had smeared the print, staining the fine parchment. The flame guttered and dripped fat onto the greasy tabletop. Arthur took a swig of his drink and cleared his throat.

“Alright, listen to this one,” he said, reading from the un-smeared part:

_ ...A thoroughly immoral paragon of inelegance, his presence is a corrupting influence on the virtuous young ladies and men of our esteemed Court. Recently, he approached the very beautiful Lady ------ in a most familiar manner. She begged to know what compelled him to approach an unmarried woman in such a way. The alleged phrase with which he responded to this is unprintable-” _

He was interrupted by his second mate snorting into his pint of beer.

Even serious Lars, beside him, cracked a half-smile. Arthur smirked as well, and folded the pamphlet back up, tossing it resolutely on the pile of other tabloids he’d brought. 

“That one’s directly from the palace,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s been lively.”

He’d snuck out to a tavern by the docks that night to hold a meeting; first mate Lars and second mate Alasdair attending. The fishermen and coal miners had already cleared out for the night by the time Arthur arrived precisely at 11. Arthur, for one, settled in comfortably, dressed in plain clothes and looking every bit the part of a laborer. The smoky gloom of the establishment and the taste of cheap ale were enlivening after weeks surrounded by glamour and radiance. 

Arthur squinted in the dim light at the working-class tabloids and pamphlets spread over the table, beneath the one from the palace. They all bore extravagant headlines such as: “_ Back for good? Dangerous Pirate Puts Down Roots” _ and _ “Five Easy Steps to Knowing If Your Rights Are Being Violated”. _

“S’ a little impolitic to let his people write this about his queen,” said Alasdair, nodding at the papers. 

Arthur scoffed, lifting his mug to his lips and tilting it back to catch the dregs of ale. He swallowed, wiping his mouth.

“They don’t expect I’ll be here long. Besides, it isn’t much different than the usual people talk about me. Fear mongering and all that. It’s good publicity, and I find it entertaining. Anyway,” he said, his seat creaking under him as he leant back. He set his mug aside. “Anything to report?”

Lars and Alasdair met his question with silence. They glanced at each other and then back at him.

“Seas have been quiet,” said Lars.

“S’ been boring as shite to be honest,” said Alasdair broadly, stretching his arms out over the back of the booth. “Nothin’ to do but out-drink the navy.”

“Have you discovered anything... useful?” asked Arthur. 

“Aye. Discovered their bosun’s a dirty thievin’ bastard. Stole my wallet while I was passed out under the table.”

“Fuckin’ idiot,” mumbled Lars into his pint.

“I said _ useful _,” said Arthur.

Alasdair shook his head. “Cap’n, the navy does the same ungodly shite we do. Since there’s been nothin’ to fight about, we get along. There’s nothin’ to report, and nothin’ to exploit. What about _ up there? _ In court? Ain’t there intrigue all the time?” he asked.

“Aye,” said Arthur. He chewed his lip. “Nothing that wouldn’t come back to bite me if I meddled, though.” 

“Such as?”

“Such as!” scoffed Arthur. “Let me tell you…”

He cast a glance over his shoulder, then leant in and lowered his voice. 

“Three days ago, I had a run-in with the opium smugglers we raided close to a year ago-- the ones who made a fortune trading porcelain vases, and from the opium they smuggled inside. Well, they’re aristocrats, visiting from the Empire. A brother and sister duo- the Honorable Mei and Li Huang. Walking free in the salon. But of course, no one else knows they’re the ones behind all that, but me.” 

“So?”

“_ They _ know I know,” whispered Arthur emphatically. “They told me they’d grind my bones and make a teacup from the ash if I breathed a word. Been checking over my shoulder every time I’m alone. Bloody frightening fuckers.”

“Could print their names anonymously in the court tabloid,” said Alasdair. “Expose ‘em.”

Arthur furrowed his brow. “They would know it was me, _ idiot. _ I’m not trying to get murdered three weeks into this. Besides, even if there were no threat, I can’t exactly use their secret as blackmail. They make the Spades so much money from their _ porcelain _ business, _ I’d _ be losing money if I turned them in. The _ Spades _would…” He trailed off, putting his face in his hands. “Bollocks, I’m too tired to think about this. I’ven’t slept in days...” 

He slumped back in his chair. 

“It’s all petty gossip. And burned bridges. They hold their secrets close, in the palace. Rightly so. But after all this bloodshed and sacrifice, to hit a wall and have nothing to exploit...”

“The alliance is fresh. Everyone’s on their guard,” said Lars. “We may have to wait for things to quiet down.”

Alasdair nodded. “Aye. Someone’ll slip.”

“Aye…” murmured Arthur, peering into his empty mug. 

He stood, chair legs screeching on the floor. He rifled through his coat pocket for coins and tossed them onto the table. 

“Same time next week, unless I say otherwise,” he directed. The two men nodded. 

He plucked his hat up from the table and pressed it on, tilting down the brim. 

Outside the tavern, he untied his horse and began the trek back to the palace. 

When he was Captain Kirkland, he held odd, round the clock hours, but he made his own schedule. Now, his schedule revolved around the king’s, and he could never seem to get a moment’s time to himself. Even in the free time, he was seemingly surrounded by _ people. _

No one even _ wanted _him around. His presence at parties and diplomacy events alike was abhorred. Half the duties he was given were just to waste his time, certainly. Despite this, they were endlessly entertaining. The Spades shared his love for gambling and high-quality booze, and Arthur found himself at the card tables on many a night, surrounded by courtiers too drunk to complain about his company.

Diplomacy was a daily parade of disappointment-- for everyone else. To Arthur, it was thrilling to see yet another aristocrat turn white in the face when they arrived from another kingdom and saw him sitting on the king’s right at the banquet table. 

The King of Spades’ international relations were in an absolute riot. The king spent many nights in his study with a bottle of liquor and his head in his hands, after another exhausting battle to convince another ally or investor to not withdraw support for the Spades.

Arthur supposed being watched from sunup to sundown (and even some hours in between) was a tradeoff for eternally exasperating the Spades. 

More likely, it was to deter him from mischief. To keep him distracted from the dawning realization that, over the past three weeks, he had been settling. 

Perhaps the king and his men had realized it before he had. Or maybe Arthur had known all along he would never be satisfied with answering to someone else.

The novelty of being royalty had distracted him from the undeniable truth that he was craving something again. 

\----

Arthur spat a cherry pit out the window of the lounge, only to have it ping back at him. He frowned in confusion.

The smudge of red juice left behind was the only indication of a glass pane.

So far removed from the factories and sooty alleyways that lined the coast, the Spades palace did not have a hint of grime even on the outside. The sea breeze was faint here, only a scent, not enough to blow smoke at the ivory walls like it did to the soot-darkened windows of the working-class shanties.

He smiled at the stain on the window. The little mark of filth on the pristine glass made him feel a bit better.

He wondered why people so obsessed with perfection decided to establish their kingdom on the edge of a sea-- somewhere turbulent, dangerous, untamed.

The Spades were proud of perfection in the same way that characterized most powerful families, and the world shared in their sentiment, regarding their wealth and splendor with awe. Sailors from across the world sang ballads about the ivory palace whose gleaming spires could be seen for leagues off the coast. 

Now that he was a part of the unfaltering clockwork of grandeur, Arthur understood that the goings-on inside the palace weren't as easy to articulate in song.

How could he create stanzas about the way everyone was used to having their tea right at 4 o’clock? The way the color of lace on their collar had to match their garters, their wristwatch, and the buttons on their vest? Or how the amount of gold spent on candles for one dinner party could feed a peasant village for a month?

The imported cherries in the bowl at his elbow gleamed with conspicuous frivolity; an expensive, unseasonal treat at the end of autumn. 

Was this really how it always was, at the height of extravagance? 

_ Gods! How dull and contemptible! _

He glumly popped a cherry in his mouth, opening the window a crack to discard the pits. A gust of freezing air rushed in, and he slammed the window shut again. He shivered, in only his vest and shirtsleeves. 

He fucking hated cold weather, too. Why hadn’t he thought to attack the Spades in the spring? Now he’d have to suffer through one of their legendarily dreary and bitter winters. 

At least in the lounge, he had a warm place to smoke and drink alone. And eat expensive fruit. And sulk. 

There had been a few other courtiers here earlier, chattering together in front of the fireplace, but they had hurried out once he arrived. It was for the best, Arthur reckoned, that they weren’t around. He had the morning free for once, and had come here with the singular purpose of getting exquisitely sloshed before he began his day. Drink usually made him happy when everything else did not. 

Arthur was finding that lately, the deeper into a bottle he got, the worse his mood became. 

As he hunkered in the corner of the lounge, swilling whiskey with cherries, the door opened. Light spilled into the dim room and across his face. Arthur squinted back irritably to see who it was.

Of all the people it could have been, he did not expect to lock eyes with Yao. 

The minister, dressed in dark blue and silver brocade, lingered in the doorway, staring back. 

It was an unpleasant reunion, as most of his reunions went, but this time Arthur had the pleasure of watching Yao’s eyebrows arch when he realized he was outranked. Perhaps he’d heard the news of the coronation and hadn’t believed it. 

As a man with at least some regard for propriety, Yao folded at the waist in a bow, but not without showing how put-upon he was. Truly, it was a spectacle of emotion-- surprised, then understanding, then put-upon. But if Yao felt threatened, he didn’t show it. 

“So… _ ” _he drawled, straightening up. He stared down his prim, elegant nose at him. “You are the queen now.”

“I am,” said Arthur. 

Yao narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t long about it.”

Arthur shrugged. “I wanted an upgrade.”

“I can’t imagine why,” said Yao, holding his sleeve up over his mouth.

“And… why are you here?” asked Arthur. “Was the Golden Empire court not treating you well?”

Yao was clearly fighting the urge to roll his eyes at him. “In addition to being Minister of Foreign Affairs, I am also the Jack of Spades, as I… vaguely recall telling you,” he said. He still had a look of pained disbelief on his face, but Arthur didn’t fault him for it. 

“If you work for me, why haven’t I seen you until just now?” asked Arthur. 

“I have been away on business until just now,” said Yao, pertly.

“Right,” said Arthur. “After landing the highest rank a nobleman can achieve in the Spades. Whose cock did you suck to get here?”

“You really found that joke funny enough to tell twice,” sneered Yao.

Arthur leant his chin in his hand. “And what an impression it must have made on you, to have remembered it months later.”

Yao put his nose in the air. “Being well-connected is more important than beauty alone.”

“I do love being _ well-connected _ with a beautiful man,” said Arthur, licking his lips and enjoying the revulsion that came over the jack’s features. 

“Do you plan to use your position to harass your subordinates?” asked Yao, scowling. 

“I’m not opposed to it,” said Arthur. “You’re rather more attractive working for me than against me.”

Yao gave him a tight-lipped smile. 

“How is your hand?” he asked, glancing down to Arthur’s arm, slung over the back of the couch. 

Arthur was caught off guard by the question. He fought the urge to tug his right glove higher up his wrist. He’d taken to wearing them.

“It’s only been three months,” Yao continued, eyeing the scarred flesh exposed under the edge of the leather. “Brands take some time to heal.”

“Mind your business.” 

Yao tipped his head forward in a mocking bow. “As the jack, the queen’s health _ is _ my business.” 

“Oh, piss off,” said Arthur. He drew himself up, sitting taller on the couch, but could not find the conviction to argue. Cold shame snuffed his nerve, though he glared mightily at the smarmy Jack.

As Arthur opened his mouth to demand, again, that he remove himself from the room, the sound of approaching chatter from outside caught his attention. Yao’s head also cocked towards the door at the footsteps drawing near.

_“God damn, the weather here is shit. When is court moving to the winter palace?”_ joked a familiar booming voice, muffled from outside the lounge.

As the excitement drew closer, Arthur could distinctly hear others saying, “he’s in there”, in badly-concealed whispers.

“Is that… who I think it is?” Arthur questioned. 

Yao finally gave into the urge and rolled his eyes at the commotion, as a response. 

“You brought _ him _, too?” asked Arthur, wrinkling his nose. “You’ve been tied at the hip to the sultan lately. Are your countries that close?”

“It is merely coincidence that we are here at the same time,” sniffed Yao.

“What’s his business here?” asked Arthur. “I wasn’t told he’d be coming. Did _ you _know he was coming?”

“Perhaps,” said Yao. Arthur glared at him.

At that moment, a gaggle of courtiers burst into the lounge, chattering all at once. 

In the Spades, it wasn’t odd for courtiers to come and go. The court was more dynamic than most, bustling with new faces every week. To Arthur, some were entertaining, but most were an annoyance not worth his time. 

As this was a case of the latter, Arthur pulled out his cigarettes, lit one up, and proceeded to ignore the sultan and his coterie until they were right in front of him. 

“Long time no see, pirate. You’ve moved up in the world,” said Sadik. 

Arthur took a bracing swig of whiskey. Then he dragged his attention up to where it was commanded. The courtiers surrounding the sultan whispered behind their hands to each other. Sadik’s arms were crossed over his broad chest, and he smirked down at him. 

“Aye,” said Arthur, plunking the bottle back down on the table. “Here I am now.”

“So it’s true!” Sadik exclaimed. “You escaped from prison?” 

Yao cleared his throat. “Actually, he--”

“_ Yes _,” said Arthur, talking over him. “Yes, I escaped from prison. I can’t say it suited me. More rats than I’m used to.”

The courtiers were whispering in earnest now: “_ How frightening!” “Is it possible he escaped?” “Surely not?” _

“It wasn’t a prison, it was a _ jail,” _ Yao grumbled, but the gossip has already started.

“Damn, what a tragedy,” Sadik said, rather unremorsefully, then changed the topic. “That’s not important, though. The pirate’s not my reason for coming here.”

He walked past Arthur to the center of the room, and the courtiers trailed after.

“Well, sort of,” he amended. “The King of Spades’ alliance with the pirate is all the rage right now. News has reached the other kingdoms and caused some hasty decisions to be made. _That's _what I'm here to talk about.” 

Sadik lounged back in an armchair, and the nobles- Yao included- crowded around him, and servants scurried over and poured everyone drinks. Some courtiers were from the Spades, and some were the sultan’s own. Arthur wondered if he was a favorite of the Spades- he knew their kingdoms traded- but Sadik himself seemed popular without regard to that. 

Despite himself, Arthur found himself opening an ear to the conversation as well, from his solitary perch just outside the gathering of courtiers.

“I just came from the Yama kingdom,” said Sadik, having drained his glass and set it on a side table. “And do I have some bullshit to share! The day before I left for Spades, I was in the palace, being entertained by the prince; all cozy together at a little table. He’s pouring sake_ , _and we’re trying to enjoy the afternoon… and do you know who walks in? Right into the private sitting room? The King of Hearts.”

A murmur went through the courtiers. Sadik gestured emphatically.

“This motherfucker… fucking Ludwig… barges in and goes, “the prince has been turned over to me. I outbid you.”And I sit there, looking like a damned fool, with liquor running out over my hand while he and his goons stand in the doorway, mean-mugging me. He really just showed up and tried to strong-arm me out of a marriage I’d been planning for months. Absolute barbarian. So I tell him “Hell no, no one challenges me”, and I tried to beat his price, but my advisors suggested that I was already spending too much on the dowry. In the end, there was nothing I could do; the Yama accepted the Hearts’ exorbitant payment. And that was that. We should be getting wedding invitations in the next week,” he finished glumly, pouring himself another drink. 

Yao piped up immediately.

“Why did you want to ally with the Yama? Aren’t you well-established in the East?” he asked.

Sadik stroked his beard. “I wanted a sophisticated husband. I was going to make everyone jealous, to have married someone so beautiful and well-regarded,” he said good-naturedly. “And _ strong. _Kiku took the news without flinching. As to be expected of the prince of a warrior kingdom. The Hearts are like that as well. A strong queen for a strong king. They’ll at least have something to bond over once they’re married.”

“A barbarian marrying a barbarian…” drawled Yao, clearly not pleased by this news. 

“Aah, don’t bring politics into this,” complained Sadik, waving a hand at him. “I’m just reporting what happened.”

“If it's true, the Empire will not stand for this marriage.”

“I don’t think the Empire has much say in the matter.” Sadik shook a finger at Yao. “That's another reason they married. The Hearts likely will send reinforcements to drive away the Empire’s forces that are fighting for Yama territory. There were not a lot of other kings willing to promise that. But the Hearts have the resources, and no loyalty to the Empire, so… what can you do?”

Yao clicked his tongue, but was silent otherwise. 

The sultan exhaled a long breath. 

“Say what you like about the Hearts. Though their misgivings are numerous, they are rightfully powerful. As for their king, I can’t be upset with a man who knows how to get what he wants better than me. He’s not as good-looking, though,” he murmured.

“You’re surprisingly accepting of this,” said Yao.

“Hell no! I’m pissed!” said Sadik, banging a fist against the tabletop, upsetting his empty glass. “What kind of asshole snatches someone’s husband-to-be? He’s an uncultured swine! That’s the reason Ludwig has been a bachelor this long. The reason why he had to _ coerce _a prince to marry him.”

He shook his head in disbelief. 

“The thing is, the Hearts didn’t care about international commerce or anything to do with the East until that pirate showed up here. They’re threatened. Sure a pirate makes for a shit queen, but you can’t deny that he makes an intimidating ally. A frightening enemy to your enemies. The King of Hearts _ should _be scared. He’s got a formidable army, but the Spades have got an army of unremorseful throat-slitters on their side. Better on yours than his, am I right?” he cackled.

A nervous murmur passed through the gathering. The reality of the situation dawned heavily upon all.

While it was true that the pirates created a formidable ally, everyone had assumed the alliance would be very temporary. But with the King of Hearts allying with a powerful eastern kingdom, the pirates would have to stay in order to maintain the power balance.

Arthur was not sure how to feel about the fact that he was actually needed in the Spades. He felt like his expected reign as queen had suddenly been extended.

As he was thinking, he felt Sadik’s eyes on him again, from across the room.

“You! Quit skulking over there and come over,” Sadik demanded. 

With a sigh, Arthur hauled himself from his seat and planted himself in another across from the sultan, figuring whatever idiocy he would face would be over the sooner he gave in. 

Sadik stared at him expectantly. Then his face fell and he looked vaguely annoyed.

“How long have you been queen?” he asked.

“A month,” said Arthur, slouching forward and lighting another cigarette.

“A month, and you haven’t learned how to address a king? When I tell you to do something, you’re supposed to answer with “yes, great sultan”.”

Arthur flicked his lighter shut. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I can’t believe the king lets you out in public,” Sadik said, shaking his head. “It’s no wonder you weren’t invited to the Hearts’ wedding.”

There was a stir at this. Courtiers looked to each other and Sadik. 

“He wasn't? How do you know?” asked Yao, leaning forward. 

Sadik smirked. “So the rumors tell, at least,” he said. “You think, internationally, the Spades’ decision to crown a pirate has been taken well? It’s no surprise the Hearts don’t want anything to do with him.” 

“Not extending an invitation to the queen is a terrible breach of convention,” said Yao.

“Ludwig’s never given a shit about convention,” said Sadik. 

Arthur flicked ash from his cigarette. “You think I care about the wedding of some whore from the Yama?”

Sadik threw a glare at him. “It’s blasphemy to call him a whore. He is anything but.”

“What would you know about that? Not so long ago, you were--”

“_ Sinking your ship _ off the coast of the Empire,” Sadik cut in, glaring. 

Arthur chewed his lip and backed down. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to venture further into _ that _matter.

“Let’s end all this pretense,” said Sadik. “You’re queen now. Not quite what you were shooting for, but you must have a goal in mind, now that you’re here. What do you expect to do with your new power? Will you attack who you please?”

“If it’s in the king’s interest,” said Arthur.

Sadik chuckled dryly. “I think married life has tamed you.”

“In a month, it has?” countered Arthur. 

Sadik shrugged. “The shock of having a pirate for a queen will wear off. People will move on,” he said. 

“Is that what they believe in your kingdom?”

“You don't see it yourself? The courtly life will temper you. If you go too long without any crimes to your name, you'll lose your edge. In a year’s time, you’ll be docile.”

“The hell I will,” snarled Arthur.

When he saw Sadik reach for him, he leant away. He expected him to back off, but the sultan pursued. He gripped his jaw and pulled his chin up, forcing him to look into his face. Arthur froze, shocked.

“Imagine... this fearsome rogue transformed into a even-tempered husband,” Sadik laughed coldly. 

Arthur’s hand twitched; a restrained movement towards his knife. He cast off the impulse to stab the sultan in the neck. He was outranked. This was diplomacy, and he was going to answer for it if he attacked him here, in public. 

For once, the room was completely silent.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek to keep from biting _ him. _Sadik felt the movement of his jaw, and his grip tightened until it was crushing. He leant in close, and growled, 

“Or… like a rabid dog, you’ll run loose, spreading pestilence until you’re put down.”

He pushed Arthur away, glaring in disgust. 

Arthur took a steadying breath. He brought a hand up to his jaw, rubbing the pain out of it. The red vignette obscuring his vision slowly, slowly receded. 

As he came back to his senses, the courtiers were shifting around, whispering. The sultan was wiping his fingers with a handkerchief. 

“Anyway,” he declared, discarding the cloth on the side table. “I have a meeting with the king.”

Sadik left, without another word to Arthur. 

As soon as he stood, the courtiers rose as well, and quickly filed out after him, in order of rank. Arthur was left alone in the room once again. 

He slumped back, fuming. His anger came to a head, and provided a sort of clarity.

Out of that clarity, Arthur realized, with a bright, startling conviction, that he had found a lead to exploit. 

Or, more accurately, another marriage to ruin. 

\----

The Sultan stayed just three days, as the Spades was only a stop on his way to another kingdom. Yao, however, in his new position as Jack, remained.

Arthur made sure to ambush him as soon as possible. He had checked Yao’s schedule in preparation.

When Yao came alone through a corridor, having delivered some documents to the king, Arthur was there, leaning against the wall, polishing his knife. Yao was forced to walk past him.

Arthur stepped in front of him, and did not let him pass.

“What are the chances that you could produce some evidence for me?” he asked. 

“I know nothing that would be of interest to you,” said Yao. He tried to go around him, but Arthur put his knife at his throat and backed him into the wall without any real force. 

“That’s a dangerous habit, to avoid your queen when he’s requesting your service. Why don’t you try again?” he said, tilting his head to the side.

“What evidence?” asked Yao. He was unshaken, in a way that suggested he had been expecting this. 

“The other day,” said Arthur, “I was thinking, as the sultan was waxing lyrical about his failed marriage to a prince… this wouldn’t happen to be the same respectable virgin prince he was fucking around the time I blew up his ship?”

“It would,” said Yao. 

“Good. I want the evidence that they were together.” 

“Evidence?” asked Yao. 

“The papers showing that the sultan docked in Fu Jiao and his things were accounted for, so he can’t bring a lawsuit against the port authority. The documentation you made that includes one of the passengers you omitted from the publicity report. Officially, the Sultan was travelling alone. But _ records _show that another passenger accompanied the Sultan. And as I recall, you are the one in charge of those records.”

“I won’t retrieve that information for you,” said Yao.

“I thought it was in the Spades’ interest to work against the Hearts. Aren’t they rivals of a sort?” asked Arthur.

“They are.”

“And you also clearly have some loyalty to the Golden Empire, which has been feuding with the Yama for generations. This should not be a difficult choice for you.”

Yao smirked. “Yes… ordinarily I would not mind. However, the Spades _ do _ value their relations with both the Yama and the Sultanate, and I distrust putting such sensitive information in the hands of a pirate _ . _”

“I know what I’m doing,” snapped Arthur. 

“_ I know _ what you’re thinking, and it will not work,” said Yao, crossing his arms. “Not coming from someone like you. The King of Hearts will not suddenly divorce his new husband because of some rumor a pirate spreads about the prince’s amorous exploits.”

“Can you be certain that when he has the evidence in his hands, he won’t decide to contest it with the Yama? With his _ barbaric _ personality? You’re telling me he wouldn’t even put up a _ fight _when slighted? A man with such a fiery temperament would quietly allow himself to be cheated out of a veritable fortune in gold?” 

“How do you know he has been cheated?” asked Yao.

“Because I know how these dowries work. Because I have exploited them. The prince or princess is kept a virgin if possible because the dower often pays far more for the right to them. As I have heard, this is that exact situation, which means the king has been cheated out of both gold and an important feature of his new husband.”

Yao shook his head. “I just got back from the Empire, I have no excuse to suddenly return.” 

“Make one. You seem to be good at making excuses.”

“I could be arrested in the Empire for giving out records to an unauthorized person.”

“Your livelihood means shit to me. Sneak it out before the Hearts’ wedding. And don’t give me a forgery, or I’ll arrange an accident the next time you set sail in my waters. Is that understood?”

Yao smirked thinly. “If nothing else, you’re opportunistic, pirate. You amuse me, so I will do it. But I’m telling you, it will not work.”


	5. The Hearts

As it turned out, Arthur really wasn't invited to the wedding.

Despite his denouncement of the event, he  _ was  _ rather offended on principle because he was a very important queen. 

The Spades offered to advocate on Arthur's behalf, as this lack of an invite was completely improper, but Arthur put up a front of indifference, and the matter was dropped. 

Or so they thought. 

As his carriage jostled down the dark-forested route to the Hearts palace, the path became dense with trees on all sides until he was whipping past black, inscrutable wilderness. The carriage windows had iced over, and the lanterns affixed to the sides of the vehicle weakly illuminated the way. Arthur pulled his cloak more tightly around himself.

He had not concerned himself with the Kingdom of Hearts, during his career as a pirate _ . _ Located centrally in the Western continent, the Hearts were closed off from the sea on all sides.

Contrary to the worldly Spades, whose power was gained in overseas trade, the Hearts held claim to the majority of the Western continent through a series of wars. According to tales, the Hearts were fiercely proud of their strength. This made Arthur concerned about the amount of security on the palace grounds. After all, he’d never snuck into a palace- or in the Hearts’ case, fortress.

Judge of Arthur’s surprise when his carriage rolled past three sets of guards on his way through the grounds without garnering so much as a glance. The coachman pulled up to the roundabout at the front of the palace so Arthur could be received just like the other guests. He had arrived slightly later than everyone else, and without an elaborate disguise. He only dressed down from what a queen would normally wear, to give the impression he was some middling courtier, arriving late after trouble on the road. He pulled his hat down to obscure his face.

_ Maybe, _ he thought as he approached the door,  _ like in the Spades, their guards don’t glance twice at nobles who look like they belong. _

This line of reasoning got him much further than he expected. It wasn’t until he was at the palace door that one of the guards recognized him. 

Then, Arthur switched to his strategy of being as obnoxious as possible. 

“I am not that evil pirate!” he declared, to the guard that stopped him. 

“You fit the description,” the guard said. “We have to take precautions, sir, and detain you for questioning.”

“Detain me!? I want to speak to the king!”

“The king is occupied.”

“Well. If I really am the Queen of Spades, he must have time to speak to an important person like me.”

“Sir, we have to ask you to come with us.”

Arthur dug in his heels. “The Queen of Spades was simply  _ uninvited _ . Being  _ detained for questioning _ is quite another matter. I’m sure the King of Hearts wouldn’t like to bring heat upon himself from the King of Spades, were he to discover his queen was treated un-diplomatically,” he said. 

“Then we must ask you to leave,” said the guard.

“Oh, no, no!” tutted Arthur. “The threat of detainment has already been made. I will remember it and make sure to get you fired.”

The guards looked at each other tiredly, and Arthur knew he had found his way in. He doubted castle guards were paid enough to argue with obnoxious royalty.

The towering oak door creaked open to allow him to slip inside the palace, and interior guards came alongside to escort him.

As they walked, Arthur took account of his surroundings. 

The Hearts had an old money look to it, devoid of the gleaming excess that characterized the Spades palace. The walls and floor were made of dark stone, oak beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and massive crimson tapestries draped both sides of the entrance hall, displaying the heart crest. 

Arthur expected to be led to the upper floors, where the king usually resided. Instead, he was taken through a series of dark hallways and down an iron staircase, deeper into the cold, stone-hewn edifice.

They arrived in a drafty, granite-walled room in the basement of the palace, which reminded Arthur all too much of a holding cell.

Before he could protest, he was stood against the wall and told to wait. One of the guards left, while the other two monitored him.

Arthur shivered, rubbing his hands.

_ What the hell is this?  _

He eyed the guards, who were twice his size, wearing armored breastplates, and armed with at least three blades each. 

With a longsword, he might be able to hold them at a distance in the cramped hallway and make an escape, but in a wonderful display of foresight, he had come armed with only two daggers. 

He didn’t have to ponder his escape long. Hardly two minutes later, the King of Hearts showed up. 

“What is this about?” the king asked, ducking his head through the doorway as he came into the cell.

When he marched up, Arthur reactively took a step away. His back hit the wall.

Oh yes, he could see this man running a kingdom known for its armies. He had the physique of a sergeant with the manner of a general. The brass buttons on his scarlet military jacket glinted in the torchlight. His outfit was immaculate, from the epaulets on his powerful shoulders to the tips of his boots.

The king ( _ Ludwig,  _ the sultan had said) squinted at him for a moment, before clarity came into his expression. Even for a landlocked kingdom that had little to do with pirates, the Hearts were certainly familiar with Arthur’s likeness. Even if the wanted posters were a poor imitation of the real thing.

Ludwig glared at his guards. 

“Obviously it’s him,” he said. “Why did you bother me with this? Take him away.”

“Wait! I come in peace!” exclaimed Arthur. 

The king turned his glare on him. Arthur couldn’t tell if he was actually angry, or if his resting expression was that horrible, menacing frown.

“I do not have time for nonsense. You were not invited for a reason.”

From the utter seriousness of his face, Arthur had a brief stab of regret about this plan. But he’d be damned if he travelled all the way across the continent only to get kicked out of the palace immediately. 

“Allow me to explain my reason for coming,” he said, finding his nerve. “It will only take a moment of Your Majesty’s time.”

“Make your case quickly,” said Ludwig. 

“I think, perhaps, you have misplaced hatred for me,” said Arthur. “How do you know I’m as terrible as people claim? Those are only stories. And you look like a man who takes no interest in silly gossip.” Arthur gestured at the king’s hardened, chiseled face. His expression hadn’t changed since he came in.

The king said nothing, either way, and continued to stare him down. Arthur’s voice cracked a bit as he continued.

“And surely, you know a haughty and exclusive kingdom such as the Spades would fight to the last individual before making dealings with an especially awful pirate, as they’d made me out to be.”

“I heard this was a special case,” said the king. “And that you are unmatched in cruelty and insolence.”

“And respectfully, you’ve only  _ heard.  _ From whom?”   


“My queen,” said Ludwig. “He was insistent that you were not to be invited.”

_ So that little slut is behind this,  _ thought Arthur _ . Perhaps he anticipated I would be a threat. _

“What a coincidence,” he said, brightening his attitude. “He’s exactly the person I came here to see.” 

The King of Hearts was unmoved. “I don’t trust you anywhere near my palace unattended, much less my queen. You have a wild reputation.”

“So your queen believes. In that case, your guards can accompany me,” suggested Arthur.

“My queen is not one to be dramatic. And as far as I’m concerned, a pirate is a pirate,” said Ludwig, turning away.

Direct and to the point. This king was too stubborn to move. But he had revealed a crack in his armor: he held his queen in high regard. A word to challenge that perception, however, might loosen him up.

Arthur sighed deeply. 

“Well,” he said. “I  _ had _ hoped I would be able to spare your queen the misfortune of his new husband thinking badly of him on account of some...  _ risque  _ secret he has. But I suppose if I have to…”

Ludwig turned back to face him, and Arthur took the opportunity to draw the bait closer.

“But… no, I shouldn’t,” he continued. “It wouldn’t be right, to reveal such a thing right before he’s to be married.”

The unmistakable light of interest had come into the king’s eyes. 

“ _ But…”  _ drawled Arthur, “I suppose it would be  _ more  _ wrong of me not to let the king know something so important…”

“Get on with it,” demanded Ludwig. 

“You see, Your Majesty, your queen and I have a troubled history,” said Arthur. “And your queen has an embarrassing secret in regard to that history that I’m sure he’d rather not like revealed. So I’ve come to discuss my conditions with him.”

“You’ve come to threaten him,” said Ludwig.

“Oh, no. I would  _ never  _ want it to come to threats. I came here out of the kindness of my heart, to give him a chance at reconciliation. At this point, the best you can do is to take me to him so we can sort it out. Or else… something unfortunate may happen to him.”

“You’re bluffing.” 

“I don’t see why else he would be so insistent that I stay out of his affairs,” said Arthur. 

“Perhaps he dislikes the idea of hosting a felon and a narcissist at his wedding,” said Ludwig bluntly.

“ _ Ex _ -felon, Your Majesty,” corrected Arthur quietly. 

“My queen’s decision will stand,” said Ludwig. “For his sake, I will continue to regard you as an undesired presence at this event.”

He jerked his head at the guards, signalling to remove him. 

“And what about your sake, Your Majesty?” asked Arthur, resisting as he was grabbed by the shoulders. “I’ve heard stories that you’re depending on this marriage quite strongly. What a pity it would be if you turned me out and I humiliated him. Your arrangement with the Yama would be in quite a fix, if word got out that I came to peacefully negotiate and you threw me out like some sort of…  _ barbarian. _ ”

He made sure to put emphasis on the last word, and predictably, the king was affected. The irritated twitch of an eyebrow betrayed his weakness. 

“Let him go,” he ordered. The guards immediately released him. 

Arthur clasped his hands together, giving him a winning smile. 

“Five minutes with him, Your Majesty, is all I ask,” he said.

Despite the overwhelming logical reasons not to trust the word of a criminal, the king couldn’t help caving to the pressure to be diplomatic, and relented. 

“Very well,” he grumbled. He motioned at the guards to escort Arthur further into the palace

“You have my thanks, Your Majesty,” said Arthur.

“You have  _ exactly _ five minutes,” instructed the king, leaving Arthur with the guards and the impression that he would, indeed, have exactly that amount of time. 

After being searched and relieved of his weapons, Arthur was allowed inside  the Queen of Hearts’ apartment. 

For royal quarters, it was sparsely furnished, but in an intentional, meticulous way. Arthur had never been invited into the quarters of Yama royalty before, but the decoration struck him as a stark emulation of the style of that country, with the expensive floor mats and lacquered furniture that sat low to the ground.

He lingered for a moment in the entrance hall, wondering at the decor, and realized just how far away from his home country the prince was-- fully across the world.

The apartment was a space he had created for himself. Nowhere else in the palace resembled his apartment, as far as Arthur had seen. 

He couldn’t decide if the decorative choice seemed prideful, or lonely and insecure. It was just an unexpected oddity.

As he approached the double door that presumably led to the reception room, the doormen opened it for him. Arthur wandered in, and his sight was drawn to the side of the room.

Kneeling before a table scattered with ornamental pins, getting his hair arranged by his valet, was the Queen of Hearts.

From behind, he was a petite figure dressed in red robes. His long, heavy-looking sleeves were draped into his lap. The scarlet chrysanthemum getting tucked into the tidy knot of his hair was his only accessory. 

When he turned to greet his guest, Arthur understood why no one had shut up about him since the wedding was announced. 

As expected, he had black hair, and skin like moonlight-- it was practically requisite of all noble beauties worth noting on the Eastern Continent. His complexion glowed, his nose was small and elegant, and his mouth was set like a ruby in his cold, flawless face.

The prince regarded Arthur with quiet curiosity in his dark eyes as he tried to determine who he was. His gaze travelled over him_, _serene and analytical, but he was silent in his judgement. With a subtle motion of his hand, he dismissed his valet. 

Arthur approached him, eager to get a closer look. He came impolitely close, sitting beside him, and leaning on his dressing table.

“Throughout my travels, I have encountered some rare pearls, but you are of the  _ finest _ distinction,” he mused, ogling him with a far keener interest than the prince showed him. 

The Queen of Hearts ignored his remark, taking a fan from his dressing table. With lowered eyes, tucked it into the sash around his middle. He had not looked Arthur in the eyes once. 

He did not seem shy exactly; more like he was disinclined to speak until his guest introduced himself. Arthur abandoned his efforts at flirting for the moment. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard of me,” said Arthur. “I’m known by many names, but for now, I prefer to be called Arthur, Queen of Spades.” 

A subtle spark of recognition came across the Queen of Hearts’ features, but his reaction to this realization was impossible to gauge. He struck Arthur as the type who did not expend energy on strong emotions. 

“I had not expected to meet you in this way, Queen of Spades,” he said neutrally, taking up a hand mirror. 

Arthur smiled in surprise. The queen had a deep voice, and he spoke with a cadence like silk being folded into a lacquered chest.

“Do you have a name, love?” asked Arthur, utterly charmed.

“My name is Kiku,” the queen responded, gazing into his mirror and making an adjustment to a hairpin. And then, with a marginal narrowing of his eyes, “However… you shall not address me as such.”

Arthur's mouth drew tight. Initially, not having his position as queen respected was almost humorous, but now it felt like an overtold bad joke. 

“Where do you get off telling someone of the same rank what they shall not do?” asked Arthur. 

Kiku peered into his looking glass, unmoved. So poised. Like a statue carved in marble.

“In one’s own kingdom, the ruling queen’s interests take precedence over those of the lesser queen’s,” Kiku said, placing down the mirror. “Surely you know that much?”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. Kiku's polite apathy was beginning to wear on him.

He understood now why Kiku was so well-regarded among much of the world’s nobility. He was all their annoying traits rolled into one perfect, mannerly package. 

“Lesser queen? I am the  _ only  _ queen between us,” said Arthur. “Until you’re married, you’re just a prince.”

“I have legally been a queen for some time,” said Kiku. “This event is purely ceremonial.”

“Incidentally,  _ Prince  _ of the Yama,” emphasized Arthur anyway, gladly stooping to Kiku’s level of condescension, “Why did you leave your homeland for this place? Rumor has it the King of Hearts wasn’t your first choice for marriage. Perhaps the extravagant dowry he offered caused you to have a change of heart?”

“I am humbled that the King of Hearts was willing to pay so handsomely for my hand.”

Arthur laughed dryly. “Yes, for the…  _ hand _ of a fetching thing like you. I don't suppose you snuck in a word like “consummation” while negotiating the price of your dowry with the king?”

“What does it matter?” asked Kiku. 

“I think it would matter a lot to you, were he to find out his husband has already been consummated,” Arthur said. Surely that would startle the unfortunate queen. 

Indeed, the Queen of Hearts ceased his disinterested preening. Then he looked at him- straight in the eye- with such contemptuous disbelief, anger burned in Arthur's gut. 

“What are you saying?” Kiku asked. 

If he was nervous, the sentiment was elegantly concealed by his stoic expression. Like Arthur wasn’t worth his concern.

“You think I’m making this up?” Arthur asked.

Kiku folded his hands in his lap and turned sightly toward him, which Arthur took to mean he would humor an explanation. So Arthur continued, explaining what he had overheard in the jail months ago, and how he came to have the evidence. 

At the end of it, Kiku merely stared at him. Arthur frowned, and prompted, 

“You understand what this means for you, that I know this? Suppose the King of Hearts-- who paid so much for your hand-- were to discover he’d been lied to? The honesty of your kingdom would be brought into question. You could be disowned, or worse. Doesn’t that frighten you? At  _ all _ , Queen of Hearts?” he asked tersely, peering into Kiku’s impassive face. 

He waited for the inevitable shining tears to collect in the corners of Kiku’s eyes, as the prince begged for leniency. 

Instead, Kiku regarded him without the smallest hint of concern. 

“I know I frighten you,” said Arthur. “You won't convince me you're not scared.”

The Queen of Hearts blinked slowly. He studied Arthur’s face, searching closely for any sign of insincerity. 

Then he laughed.

With his mouth closed, he gave a single, quiet chuckle, allowing the barest touch of a smile to escape onto his lips before hiding his mouth behind his sleeve. 

“Is that funny?” Arthur asked, struggling to keep his tone even.

Collecting himself, Kiku lowered his sleeve from his mouth. His eyes were bright and cold with amusement. 

“I suppose you could have happened upon an event like that,” he said. “You have led an interesting life, or so I have heard.” 

“I was a pirate,” said Arthur. “Are you afraid to stain your dainty lips with the word?

“I am saying, this behavior is expected from someone like you.”

“I see.”

“No,” said Kiku. “You do not.”

“My reputation is terrifying. What is there to understand?” asked Arthur, continuing to be baffled by the complete lack of concern in Kiku's tone.

“Owing to our geographic proximity, the Golden Empire is in close contact with the Yama… for better or for worse,” said Kiku. “We hear the news of piracy as well. Last I heard, you were overcome by the emperor’s ships and captured.”

Arthur fought down the heat that rose in his cheeks, and snapped,

“ _ Clearly, _ I escaped, and threatened the Spades into a compromise that suited me. And tonight, I’ll be doing the same to you.”

Kiku frowned. “What sort of legacy do you intend to create? You have turned to respectability in the hope of gaining power, but instead are being restrained by your position and ruining a kingdom’s reputation.”

“I have no intention of doing things the way you nobles are used to. You’ll get yours in due time,” said Arthur.

A sharpness came into Kiku’s expression. 

“For a rumor to start, public opinion must value the perpetrator,” he said. “Failing that, the victim must be disvalued.”

“I’m not trying to start a  _ rumor,  _ I’m  _ telling you, _ ” Arthur emphasized, leaning closer. “I have access to a physical, official record of the event, and I will use it to  _ destroy you  _ if you don’t do exactly as I say.” 

He closed in, backing him against the table. Pins skittered over the surface as Kiku bumped the edge.

“You know what I mean, right?”

He took Kiku’s chin in hand and thumbed the corner of his mouth. Kiku grimaced, as Arthur leant in close to murmur into his ear.

“You’re a pretty boy, so I’ll be gentle. First, you will show me to your bedroom and allow me to have my way with you. When we’re done, I’ll delineate the rest of my conditions. If you follow them politely and without complaint, I won’t reveal what I know about you.”

Kiku turned his face out of Arthur’s grasp. “I will not negotiate this,” he said.

“You will. There’s no other way out.” 

Kiku drew himself up. “I am about to be married. Do you have any shame?”

As Kiku tried to step around him, Arthur stood as well, and blocked his way.

“Do you have any idea the trouble you’re in?” asked Arthur. “You can’t refuse me lightly.”

The conceited hellion stared into Arthur’s eyes, his dark irises overwhelming in their depthlessness. Then, in a final display of impertinence, he laughed again. 

This laugh was harsher, louder, and he made no effort to conceal it. 

“Can't refuse you?” he asked coldly. 

He tilted his head to the side, indicating that Arthur should move.

“I have wasted enough of my time on a pirate,” he said.

Arthur thrust his hand out to grab him by his pretty hair. See how haughty he was, being forced into submission...

To his surprise, Kiku grabbed his arm, and they struggled, at an impasse. Kiku was surprisingly strong. A white-hot energy was emerging from the darkness of his eyes- the alert spark of a man about to attack. His keenness to fight enamored Arthur.

“The cat has claws!” he exclaimed.

Kiku’s fingers pressed into his forearm. 

“Put a finger on me, and I will break it off,” he said.

Arthur laughed. 

“Now, love, I don't think you could follow up on that threat. You don't look like much of a warrior.”

“You underestimate me,” said Kiku.

Arthur scoffed. “You know, leading up to this wedding, my court has been prattling on with stories about you. They say that you’ve won scores of fighting competitions. That kings lined up for the chance to claim your hand in marriage because you have one of the most revered family names in the world.”

“And what do you have?” asked Kiku.

“From one queen to another, step off your high horse,” snarled Arthur, dragging him closer. He leant into his face. “I think the little prince is upset that he’ll have to share the same amount of power with a low born pirate,” he crooned. “That despite all your _proper _and _noble_ achievements, we ended up in the same position.”

There was a flash of heat in Kiku’s eyes before he looked away. 

“Well,” said Arthur. “Not to worry. You won’t be my equal for long, when your king gets word of what you’ve hidden from him.”

He released Kiku with a shove. Instead of returning to the guards, he hurried past Kiku and out the opposite doorway. Luckily, this one opened into a different part of the hall, void of any person that might try to detain him.

“Guards!” Kiku ordered, behind him. “Attend me!”

Heavy footfalls thudded behind Arthur. 

Arthur broke into a run, following the corridors as they wound and twisted through the palace. 

Soon, he found himself back in the great hall, faced with the entirety of the wedding party. Before he could be spotted, he skirted the edges of the room, and hid behind a large pillar, closely bypassing the guards, who were scanning the crowd.

As he caught his breath, Arthur took a moment to comprehend the extent of his anger.

Then, to realize that he was  _ angry  _ with a conceited prince who had no right being as confident as he was.

Perhaps worst of all, Arthur felt a distinct embarrassment that Kiku had laughed in his face and told him he wasn't worth his time. 

Arthur had a tremendous weakness for pretty boys with an attitude. The haughtier, nastier, and harder to seduce, the better. In the end, the thrill of conquest was the biggest part of the allure.

But Kiku wasn’t merely haughty. There was a sophisticated sort of cruelty about Kiku, in his fair, cold features and his elegant disdain. His delicate looks concealed a formidable patience that bordered on obstinance.  Kiku knew he was powerful, and imagined his status made him impervious to attacks from a mere pirate. 

What a pleasure it would be to ruin him. 

Arthur glanced out into the crowd, touching the document hidden in his coat. The King of Hearts was in sight, and the guards were looking the other way. Although the Queen of Hearts would not cooperate, perhaps his king could be bribed to keep the contents of the document hidden. That is, if he was still keen to go through with the wedding, knowing he had been cheated. 

Even though he appeared the tougher and more uncompromising of the two, the king had proved more negotiable than his queen. 

Satisfied that he would not be apprehended before his purpose had been achieved, Arthur took a careful step out from his hiding spot. 

There was a tug on his cloak.

He jerked around, ready for a confrontation, and was surprised to see Alfred instead. But not particularly relieved.

In fact, the Prince of Spades catching him could be just as bad as being caught by the guards. 

“What are you doing here?” asked Alfred, all smiles and innocence.

“What the hell are  _ you  _ doing here?” asked Arthur, at approximately the same time. 

“I was invited,” said Alfred, and his smile became devilish. “Unlike you.”

“I mean, what are you doing... behind this pillar?” asked Arthur lamely. 

Alfred folded his arms. “Snooping around. Same as you.”

“Yes. Well,” said Arthur.

“So why are you here?” asked Alfred.

“Um,” said Arthur, trying to come up with an excuse for sneaking into the wedding.

Alfred continued smirking at him. “I know you didn’t come here to party. Everyone knows the Hearts’ parties are  _ stupid  _ boring.”

Arthur worked his mouth. 

This was bad. Running into this brat was karma, he supposed, for disciplining him so long ago. But why the hell did Alfred think  _ he  _ would want anything to do with him? Where did he get it into his stubborn, adolescent head to even come  _ near  _ him again? 

“Now, look,” mumbled Arthur, his determination to outright tell Alfred to piss off waning, alongside visions of being thrown out of the palace before he managed to get the evidence to the King of Hearts. “I have something rather time-sensitive I need to take care of.”

“Put it on hold,” said Alfred. “Or the guards will know you’re here.”

Arthur clenched his teeth.

“Right then,” he said, holding himself up straighter and trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation. “What do you want from me?”

“Ha! Took you long enough,” laughed Alfred. He gestured over his shoulder. “I found a liquor cabinet in the hall down there, but it’s got a lock on it. I need someone who can open it for me.”

Arthur frowned at him. “Who told you I can pick locks?”

Alfred shrugged. “No one. You just seem like the kind of guy that would know how.”

“Well, that isn’t-” began Arthur, and then something occurred to him. He arched an eyebrow. 

“You want me to help you steal from the Hearts?” he asked.

The side of Alfred’s mouth quirked up. 

“Yeah. Basically,” he said.

“Also, where did you find this cabinet? Have you been wandering the palace all this time?” asked Arthur. Perhaps this wasn’t a terrible situation. If Alfred knew where he was going… 

He wondered if he would have a better chance of evading the guards if he followed him. The ceremony seemed like it was about to start, after all, and he would need to wait until it was over to talk to the king.

“It’s  _ deep  _ in the castle, this way. No one will find you there,” said Alfred. He seemed to have read his mind.

For a moment, Arthur worried that this was a trap, and Alfred was going to get revenge. But he realized that Alfred had more likely just seen him and couldn’t have planned anything, so he decided to risk it.

“Very well,” Arthur conceded. “Show me.”

Alfred smiled brightly, all signs of his threatening mood banished from his features.

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

“Hurry along,” said Arthur, distinctly annoyed that Alfred looked like he hadn't been about to rat him out a moment ago. “And try not to attract the attention of the entire bloody room.”

Alfred went first, strolling through the crowd. Arthur rubbed his temples. 

Bribery would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided on a whim to give Kiku long hair. I think it makes him more elegant… 
> 
> Also, because like 90% of the characters have been introduced at this point, I’ll put their ages here. Aside from Alfred’s (and maybe Kiku’s), they’re not extremely important, so I had mostly an age *range* in mind for most characters, rather than an actual number, but I thought people might want to know……
> 
> From youngest to oldest:
> 
> Alfred (and Matthew) - 15 (but Al’s the older twin, ofc)  
Kiku - 22  
Arthur - 31  
Yao - also 31  
Lars - early 30s  
Alasdair - early 30s  
Ludwig - 35-ish  
Sadik - 40-something  
King James - 45


	6. The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me to myself, 4 months ago: Lel I’ll totally put out a chapter every week, nbd  
So… that was a lie. Sorry to everyone who’s been enjoying the story so far and have been waiting for updates. I appreciate the support and I’m glad people like it so much. There's a reason I haven't been posting any aph that I'll explain at the end of the chapter. Until then, enjoy!

Alfred surged ahead, while Arthur folded his arms, following at a languid pace.

Arthur admittedly had not thought about Alfred much since he’d chased him away the night of his wedding. He hadn't heard a peep from the King of Spades regarding the incident, so he’d put it from his mind. 

Additionally, he never saw Alfred around the palace much to begin with. Alfred was not old enough to join the court, and his schedule was completely different from Arthur’s.

Arthur had seen him from afar often since their first interaction, usually outside playing sports with friends, or coming and going around the palace. Alfred had made no further attempts to interact with him, so Arthur assumed he had wisened up. Clearly, the prince was braver than he’d thought.

“So why were  _ you  _ hiding?” asked Arthur, eager to add another layer of noise to the unnerving echoes of their footfalls down the unlit corridors. 

Alfred shrugged. “Didn’t care about the ceremony.”

“Why are you here in the first place? I thought you weren’t old enough to be invited. Doesn’t this qualify as an adult event?”

“This is an exception, I guess, ‘cause I’m important.” Alfred stretched his arms behind his head. “It’s not like I really wanted to be here. The kids of lesser nobles in the Spades weren’t invited, so I guess I should consider myself lucky. But, whatever. I’m bored and I need something to get me through the night.”

Somehow, Arthur imagined Alfred would be getting in more trouble if his friends were here. There was a group of boys from the Spades close to his age that Arthur had seen hanging around him, and they were all as stuck up as he was.

By the looks of him, it seemed as though he’d already gotten into some trouble without Arthur’s help. His suit jacket- which he should have been wearing- was nowhere to be found. There was a little stain of jam on his waistcoat, and his hair-probably neatly styled at the start of the event- had a rebellious piece sticking straight up at the part. 

Arthur would have found him endearing if the boy wasn’t so damned brash.

They walked through the halls, through a wing of the palace restricted to guests. They passed portraits, statues, and sconces with unlit torches. Arthur tilted his head back, squinting through the darkness to see the carvings in the towering ceilings. 

Alfred was babbling about the minutiae of their surroundings, oblivious to the volume of his voice as it rang down the long hallways. 

“Oh shit! Look at this!” he exclaimed, suddenly energized. He scampered up to an admittedly impressive broadsword hanging on the wall. He whirled back around to Arthur, his eyes sparkling.

“Let’s go find the armory!” he said, practically bouncing in place. “Knowing the Hearts, I bet it’s  _ huge.” _

“Lad,” said Arthur, coming to a stop behind him and pinching the bridge of his nose. “The liquor?”

Alfred blinked. “Oh, yeah. I think it was this way…”

“You don't know where you’re going?”

“Calm down, I’ll find it again.”

Alfred did seem to know where he was going after all. After a short period of wandering, he made a noise of recognition, went up to a heavy wooden door and shoved it open. 

Their exploration had brought them to the king’s meeting hall, which boasted little else but a long table and some chairs around it. 

“There,” Alfred said, pointing to the far corner. Up against the wall, illuminated by the moonlight spilling through the huge window at the far end of the room, was a cabinet. An assortment of bottles within gleamed colorfully, displayed through a pane of glass. A bronze lock hung against the cabinet doors. Arthur clicked his tongue in thought. There was a movement at his side as Alfred turned to continue down the hall.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he said.

“Give me your tie pin,” Arthur demanded, grabbing Alfred’s shoulder to stop him from walking away. Alfred didn’t argue. After some fiddling with his necktie, he worked the pin loose and handed it to him. Reaching up to his own throat, Arthur removed the pin from his cravat and bent the tip at a 90-degree angle.

Arthur approached the liquor cabinet, then inserted his and Alfred’s pins together into the cabinet lock. 

A few minutes of scraping and jiggling later, the lock clicked open, and Arthur grinned in triumph. He pulled open the door and began rifling through the bottles, turning them around to read the labels. He wasn’t terribly familiar with Heartian liquor, but he also wasn’t terribly picky in regard to his choice of drink. Liquor was liquor, after all. 

He selected a clear bottle of rum, and put it in the lining of his coat.

Then he was poked in the ass with something sharp. 

He turned to see Alfred holding a sword in each hand. He must have snuck off while Arthur was occupied with the lock. Arthur wondered if he should have been more careful, considering the amount of weapons the Hearts seemed to have lying around. 

“Fight me, villainous cur,” declared Alfred, a tiny smirk betraying playful interest.

_ Oh. Just fooling around, then. _ Arthur rolled his eyes and turned back to the cabinet. “Not now. I’m stealing their liquor.”

“Well, stop. Choose your weapon.”

With a sigh, Arthur turned back to him. He put his hands on his hips and examined the swords Alfred was holding out. 

He took the slim silver one on the right and turned it over in his hands. The weight was comfortable, the blade pristine, and the pommel crafted with delicate precision, boasting intricate patterns in the metal that served as a grip.

Quite well-made, to have just been lying around where Alfred could get at it. Then again, perhaps leaving quality weapons around was an anomaly specific to the Hearts.

“This is beautiful,” said Arthur. “Where did you find it?”

“On a rack over there,” said Alfred, gesturing backwards with his head to some nondescript area of the palace.

Arthur slipped the sword under his coat and carefully into his belt, noting the lack of a scabbard.

“I think I’ll lift this as well.”

“ _ Arthur,” _ Alfred scolded.

“Don’t use that tone on me, boy,” said Arthur. “You were the one who wanted me to help you steal.” 

He reached back into the cabinet and shoved a bottle of beer into Alfred’s hand. 

Alfred read the label and scrunched up his nose. 

“ _ One  _ beer?” he complained. 

“Yes,” said Arthur, closing the cabinet and clicking the lock back in place. “Because you’re annoying.”

“I can’t get drunk off this!” whined Alfred.

“Belt up.” Arthur walked past him. 

Alfred hurried after him. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Away. Don’t follow me,” said Arthur. 

“I can still find the guards.”

“I did what you wanted, didn't I?”

Alfred had nothing to say to that. 

Right. Back to business.

Arthur strode away, with a bottle of gin in his hand in addition to the rum in his coat. He held up the gin, peeling off the wax seal around the cap. 

He felt a movement from behind. The hem of his cloak fluttered.

Then the bottle exploded in his grasp.

There was a  _ crack,  _ and glass shards burst all over the floor. Liquor sloshed out all over his arm and down his side. 

Arthur stared at the bottle handle, now sporting a jagged end. He took stock of himself, snarling at the eye-watering fumes of his gin-soaked cloak. Then he whirled around, glaring at Alfred.

The boy had his sword thrust out at the level of Arthur’s elbow. Gin dripped from the blade. His expression was cold and serious.

“I said,  _ fight me _ .”

Arthur’s jaw twitched. He tossed the remnants of the bottle to the floor, flicking droplets of gin off his coat sleeve.

“That was worth more to me than you are, you little shit,” he growled. 

Alfred gestured with his head. “Come on, then.”

“You're not worth my time,” said Arthur.

“Use your sword.”

“Don’t you remember what happened last time you tried to order me around?”

Alfred’s frown crooked up into a smug grimace. “I didn’t have a weapon last time.”

“As if that will improve your chances of not getting your arse whipped a second time,” said Arthur.

Alfred swung at him. The unexpected lengthwise swipe had Arthur stumbling back to avoid being cut. Glass crunched and snapped under his boots. He cursed.

“Shit! Is that blunted!?” he exclaimed.

Alfred’s grin was shameless now. “Do you want to find out?”

Arthur curled his lip, wiping his wet palm on the front of his coat. He drew the sword from his belt, got a two-handed grip on the handle, and raised the tip to Alfred’s sword. 

“You asked for this.”

From the very first clash, Arthur held back. As much as the brat deserved it for picking a fight like this, he had no intention of taking his head- or any of his appendages- off. It would be terribly inconvenient to invoke the King of Spades’ ire by cutting his son into pieces.

Alfred clearly had been banking on Arthur making the decision to spare him injury- either that, or he was remarkably cocky- because he leapt into the fight with no sign of hesitation. 

As to be expected, Alfred hit hard enough to nearly rattle the sword in Arthur’s hands. Nearly. 

Despite some awkwardness in the long limbs he had yet to grow into, he was resolute in his movements, though by no means graceful or premeditated. Every strike carried his entire weight behind it, fast and relentless, as if he intended to break his opponent’s sword before they could strategize a counterattack. 

Disregarding the utter lack of refinement, Arthur couldn’t help but feel something akin to a warmth in his heart. Not for Alfred’s skill, though. Certainly he was far too inexperienced to be anything close to impressed by. And his impetuousness, the amount of raw power he used- those did not replace actual skill. 

No. Arthur thought it was cute how easily he could take him down, and how much Alfred was putting on the line by fighting him. 

That cockiness, and that reckless trust that Arthur wouldn’t do anything to him-  _ couldn’t  _ do anything to him for the simple fact that it would be more inconvenient to Arthur to have him dead than alive...

That was all that was keeping him alive. 

It was that reckless, cocky, and brash attitude that delighted Arthur. Infuriated him.  Alfred did have a knack for getting what he wanted. 

Never mind that Arthur could cut a tendon in his wrist with a flick of his blade. Open the artery by his underarm with a thrust when he left himself exposed. Kick a kneecap out of alignment and shred the connective tissues with a single stomp to his unguarded legs- the boy’s footwork was desperately lacking. 

Something so easy, so dirty and unfair would bring down even the largest of men, who were almost always shocked someone like Arthur- half their size- had managed it. 

Arthur was, to his surprise, having  _ fun. _

Practicing with a sword was rather soothing. He had hardly practiced over the past two months since he became Queen of Spades. And when the motions were so rhythmic, and against such an easy opponent; when he didn’t have to think about his movements, he drifted into a hypnotic state where he struggled to remain annoyed with Alfred.

Alfred clearly was a product of the high class training programs of the palace. He had essentially the same style the Spades royal guard used. Being ushered  through a training program gave all the naval soldiers a generally predictable fighting style- save for the ones who had been fighting before joining the royal navy.

One would think the king’s son would fight with at least the barest semblance of refinement, however. 

_ His tutors must despise him, _ Arthur figured. The thought was more satisfying than it had any right to be. 

Alfred fought with the openness and predictability of an inexperienced swordsman, but his physical strength was remarkable. That pesky fondness kept sneaking back whenever Arthur allowed himself to think about Alfred, rather than strictly the motions of the fight.

Soon, Arthur found himself correcting Alfred.  _ Advising  _ him. 

“You don't have to throw all your strength into it,” he said. “If you parry this way, you can use their own strength against them.” He demonstrated the parry.

Alfred scoffed. “In an honest fight, you're testing strength, though. A dishonest person uses tricks to win.”

Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes. “This isn’t trickery, it’s proper sword fighting.”

“My tutor says you don't fight properly.”

** _I_ ** _ don’t fight properly?  _ wondered Arthur. But he conceded, “Perhaps not. But it's effective.”

“So who’s right?”

“Whoever wins the fight, ultimately.” Arthur took a swipe at Alfred’s shin. “Fix your stance.”

“Anyway,” he continued, after Alfred danced out of the way, “winning through brute strength is not what I would consider heroic. One should fight with a little mystery.”

“You just like being pretentious and edgy.” Alfred teased. “And a chaotic fighting style suits your image.”

Arthur just shrugged, and knocked his blade aside once again. He had no desire to argue. In fact, he was so calm, it was almost shocking. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.

“Like you’d know anything about fighting styles,” he murmured, figuring he ought to snipe back a  little , just so Alfred didn’t get used to talking to him however he pleased. “You’re still a greenhorn at this. You sound silly, making those kinds of comments.”

“I’m saying you’re a huge exhibitionist. You like to-”

“An  _ exhibitionist?”  _ asked Arthur, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah. You like to be dramatic.”

“That’s not what that word means.”

Their strikes had slowed down, and they were doing little more than batting each other’s blades aside at this point. Alfred’s sword clicked against Arthur’s, listlessly, like his mind was occupied with something else.

“Well, whatever. You like having a reputation as a bad guy. But you should be careful. Because you know what happens to bad guys in the end…”

“They get fame, and fortune, and notoriety,” said Arthur. 

To his surprise, Alfred laughed. His delight rang through the hallway, loud and raucous. 

“You really think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” he cackled.

It was condescending, but it was said with a cute little smirk, so Arthur couldn’t be angry. No matter how he tried, it was useless.

He lowered his weapon and admitted defeat. 

“All right, enough of this,” he said, sliding the sword back into his belt. "I’m dying to crack this rum open.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie dokie! Here's what's been up:  
I just want to level w y’all-- after 9(!!!) years, I think I’ve fallen out of this fandom for good. I don’t really want to abandon this fic because (IT’S JUST GOTTEN STARTED!) it’s been so much fun to work on and I’ve poured so much time into the drafts, but I haven’t been interested in anything aph-related in months. I remember being hella excited to post the first chapter, and like 3 weeks later I was like “meh”. It’s crazy how fast life can throw a curveball like that. Defo didn’t expect this!   
In addition, I strictly write fic for fun (ie. whenever I feel like writing) and my career and irl friends and activities are the priorities, and I won’t keep writing just bc I started something if I’m not into it.  
Feel free to stick around/bookmark/subscribe to the update emails if you’d like though, in case I do continue updating this fic. Which I very well may!
> 
> As a final note, I had a genuinely fantastic time in this fandom-- and I’ve never really been into anime or fandom. I usually just watch a show or whatever, think “that’s cool” and then piss off. But Hetalia, of all things, has clung on like a juicy benign tumor through many ups, downs, and uncertain transitory periods in my life. Idk why Anime Nation Men have been my big special interest for so long, but it is what it is.   
I want to let both new readers and people who have been following me for years on Ao3 know that y’all have been real. It feels good to share these little stories I write with people who like to read them as much as I like to write them.  
It feels right to go into a new decade having experienced a wonderful fandom and leaving it for something new. Thanks for reading and commenting! xoxo


	7. The Wedding

In the adjacent room, there was a large couch that appeared to be mostly decorative.  Arthur flopped down on it and set his sword against the plush arm. 

The cushion dipped as Alfred took a seat next to him. 

Arthur unsheathed his dagger and cut the foil on the liquor bottle, then dug out the cork.  He had hardly done so before Alfred snatched the bottle from him and put it to his mouth. 

Arthur grabbed the neck of the bottle before he could tilt it back.

“ _ Slowly _ ,” he instructed.

Alfred side-eyed him like Arthur had said the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. Then he took a large gulp, as if to spite him. He coughed and sputtered.

“Went down the wrong pipe,” he wheezed.

Arthur reached for the bottle. “If you get drunk and tell your old man about any of this-”

“Shut up. I’m not going to,” Alfred said, holding the bottle away from him and glaring. “You should know that by now.”

Alfred began to chug it again. He managed three gulps before he began to struggle.

“That’s enough. You’ll make yourself sick,” Arthur said, successfully pulling the bottle away while Alfred was doubled over coughing. Alfred gasped, wiping his mouth, and blinking his watering eyes.

“Teach me to drink like you do,” he said. “You can finish a whole handle of rum in an afternoon like it’s nothing.”

“Days without fresh water gives one lots of opportunity to practice,” said Arthur, taking a drink.

“Dad says you’re an alcoholic.”

“He’s not one to talk,” said Arthur. 

He set the bottle on the floor and checked his watch. 8:30pm. The ceremony should be half over. He sighed, hunching over and resting his elbows on his knees. Once he caught his breath, he’d find the King of Hearts.  He glanced back over at Alfred, who was slumped against the couch with his eyes closed. His breathing was beginning to even out. His sword lay on the floor, forgotten. 

Arthur took another gulp of rum and made to stand, when Alfred mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” asked Arthur. 

Alfred took a moment to respond. 

“I said, I’m glad you’re here.”

Arthur frowned. “Why is that?”

Alfred’s eyes fluttered open. 

“You’re present in my life.”

“Compared to who? You’re waited on hand and foot all day long by all manner of people.”

“It’s not the same. You're honest,” Alfred said.

Arthur stared at him. “ _ Honest? _ ”

Alfred rolled his head to the side to look at him. 

“Because I’m the prince, everyone lets me do whatever, even my dad. I've never really been disciplined. That’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember. After a while, you start to wonder if anyone really cares about you.”

“You do have friends, don’t you?” asked Arthur, taking a drink. 

“Yeah,” said Alfred. “I guess. But it’s not really genuine. I think the nobles’ kids only spend time with me because they want to move up the ranks. It's all so fake.” 

Alfred chewed his lip.

“And it’s not just with me. Before you came, people were fake. I mean, they’re still fake, but something’s changed since you’ve been queen.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You think it’s for the better?”

Alfred bunted his head against the back of the couch. “I think... everyone is unsettled. It’s not really good, but it could be, you know?”

Yellow lines of moonlight striped the floor, warping as they crossed over the furniture in their path. Arthur lifted the bottle to take another drink and realized it was empty. He had finished it without thinking. He stared at the tile beneath his boots, trying to understand the reason for Alfred’s sudden desire to share his feelings. 

“Is it wrong that I think that?” Alfred asked. 

Arthur set the bottle aside and laced his hands together. 

“You know what I’ve never understood? Your father has the same dirty work to carry out, the same lands to war against, people to execute and lives to destroy, but he’s well-regarded for it.”

“Not by his enemies,” said Alfred.

“Of course, but what I mean is, the only reason his allies allow these things from him and not pirates is because kings do all these things with a measure of ceremony and legality-- even though the king himself created the laws.”

“Uh, sure,” said Alfred. “That does seem kind of unfair.”

Arthur nodded. “There’s a reason why nobles adhere to process. Why everyone in court is so careful about how they act and speak. They have terrible things to hide. Pirates are scoundrels, but we don't hide behind a veneer of gentility, or try to justify our wrongdoings.”

“Does that make you better than them?” asked Alfred.

Arthur didn’t really have an answer to that. 

“Because you said you don’t think you’re honest. So what are you?” asked Alfred.

Arthur shrugged. “I'm the most respected pirate in the world. Make of that what you will.”

Alfred smirked. His blue eyes were hazy in the dim light.

“I think you're cool.”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m a dangerous man to sympathize with.”

Alfred laughed. “Like I don’t know that.”

He looked like he was about to say something else, when across the room, the door handle rattled. The sound made both of them start with surprise.

The door swung open and four armed men filed through the doorway, obscuring the exit. 

Guards.

Arthur sat up, readying an excuse, when he noticed something. These guards wore no colors or crest to distinguish them. In other words, they weren’t from the Hearts. 

“Oh, shit,” whispered Alfred. “Who are they?”

“What’s this all about?” Arthur asked. 

The men gave no answer.  Odd. He thought they would at least be threatening him with bodily harm if he didn’t leave the grounds. They must have come for another reason.  Arthur crossed a leg over his knee.

“Come now. At the least, tell me what your business with me is,” he said, as they continued silently blocking the only exit, as if it weren’t obvious enough. 

He decided to get to the point, stirrings of anger beginning to rise in his chest as he realized what this was.

“May I ask, who has taken the liberty of arranging this attempt on my life?” 

As expected, he received nothing but silence, save for a gasp from Alfred. 

“Are you going to make me guess?” asked Arthur. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears.

“Arthur,” whispered Alfred. “Are you serious?”

Arthur ignored him.

“Now… if this is an assassination, it’s all very transparent. After all, there is only one man who knows I’m here who has been threatened enough to want to make such a decision. I suppose that was his intent with this, wasn’t it?”

Again, silence. 

Arthur smirked. “Unless the little tart kills me himself, consider me indisposed to cooperate.”

So this was the Queen of Hearts’ answer to his threat- having him assassinated. The nerve of him. 

Arthur was struck by the unpleasant realization that, in the current situation, Kiku would, indeed be able to do so without any sort of retaliation from the Spades. The Spades didn’t know Arthur was at the wedding, and if Kiku’s assassins killed him now and disposed of his remains in secret, no one would realize the Hearts were behind it. 

The impact would be enormous, though. The Hearts would be more powerful than their rivals, as the pirates, lacking leadership, would not likely remain with the Spades for much longer.

Arthur seethed. It was becoming clear now. 

Kiku hadn’t made such a ballsy decision because he’d been threatened. He ordered the assassination because he regarded him as no threat at all. It didn’t matter to him how powerful Arthur was; that he was a monarch from a kingdom as formidable as the Spades.

Alone in the Hearts’ palace, without his devoted followers, Arthur was just some pirate. 

If he was killed here, all his planning; all he had worked for would have been a waste. He would have given up his life without putting a scratch on the Queen of Hearts. 

He wasn’t going to die here, like this. 

The assassins advanced toward him. 

“Is this supposed to intimidate me?” Arthur snarled, rising from the couch. Blood rushed to his head, and he swayed in place. “Don’t underestimate me!” 

“Arthur?” Alfred asked tremulously. “Are you seriously going to fight all of them?”

“Shut up and stay out of my way.” Arthur ordered, snatching up the sword he had laid aside. 

Steel flashed at the level of his throat. 

A lesser man would have been caught off guard, and cleanly decapitated. Arthur caught the strike with his blunt sword.

Between the next parry, he swiped the long knife strapped to the first attacker’s bandolier. 

Coming too close for the man to counter, Arthur stabbed through the side of his neck. 

Behind him, it sounded like Alfred had swallowed his tongue.

Before the man hit the ground, gurgling, with blood streaming through his fingers, the other three assassins converged on him.

Right. Now he had to fight three at once. 

Not his brightest moment, he realized, as he scrambled to assess his next move. 

He sidestepped a thrust, blocking slashes from the other two with his sword and dagger. He ducked beneath the blade of the third, who tried to sneak in a counter-attack.  A step forward and a stab to the thigh took care of that.

The man swayed, clutching the point where the dagger had entered. 

Arthur’s hold on his dagger fumbled. It was wrenched out of his hand, embedded in the man’s leg. 

The other two slashed at him.

Arthur’s breath caught. Unable to block both strikes with his dagger gone, only one blade connected with his. The other connected with his side. 

He grit his teeth as it scraped across his ribcage, tearing flesh in its wake. Painful. So painful, but not deadly. 

He staggered back, lightheaded, and barely caught the next strike. And then the next came, sparks flying off their blades as they collided.

The man he’d stabbed in the leg had recovered, Arthur’s dagger protruding from his thigh.

The instant Arthur made a move to retrieve his dagger, the back of his arm was slashed. 

As he jerked back, his forehead stung sharply, and he gasped, overwhelmed, as his face exploded with heat.

Blood ran into his eyes. 

He blocked a strike and created another opening. He lunged, and jerked his dagger out of the man’s thigh and countered an incoming thrust with it. 

But the third man; blood spouting from his leg, had a weapon as well.

The tip of a sword came up to pierce his abdomen, at the same time Arthur blocked the other two.

In his peripheral vision, he saw it, jutting upwards. It was impossible to counter. He only had two hands. 

And then it was gone. 

With a flash of steel, the dagger fell away.

_ No, _ Arthur realized. 

The dagger was on the floor, along with the hand that had been holding it.

The man gave a garbled shout of pain, grabbing at his severed limb.

Arthur shot a glance aside. 

Alfred stood next to him, sword in hand. The blade glistened wetly. 

“Go!” he ordered, but Arthur was already running for the hall.

Alfred was barely a deterrent, but it was enough. The few seconds he had gained when he put himself in the path of the assassins was enough to allow Arthur to dart past them. 

Fingers snagged the back of his coat, but Arthur broke away, tearing down the hall. 

He panted. Footsteps pounded behind him. 

His wounds stung with every movement. Warmth soaked his right side, pooling around his hip. 

He drew his wrist across his brow, wiping blood and sweat away. 

He was alive. 

Alive and free to pursue his real target of the evening. 

If there were any gods in existence, they would not be smiling on the Queen of Hearts tonight.  Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to be smiling on Arthur either. As he rounded the corner, he caught a flash of red in his line of sight. 

The Hearts’ guards, coming from the opposite direction, noticed him at approximately the same time, and came pounding down the corridor toward him, weapons drawn. 

Arthur pushed himself into a sprint, ignoring the burning of the wound in his side. 

The sounds of conversation; the steady buzz of a large crowd drifted out from an archway down the hall to his left.

A triumphant grin split his face. He was closer to the great hall entrance than they were. They wouldn’t catch him in time. 

“Wait!” Arthur heard Alfred shout faintly at his back, his voice carrying over the din of clanking armor.  “Arthur, wait! Don’t do it! You’re drunk!”

Arthur threw his head back and laughed; a feverish, unrestrained noise.

_ Of course I am. What’s the issue? _

He was more clear-headed than ever.  After all, he'd been fighting drunk for most of his life.  As soon as he was certain of the edge liquor gave him, Arthur made it a habit to never go into a fight dry.  Drunk, he lost all reservations. He was fearless. The only one who needed to fear was the uppity queen about to be skewered on the end of his blade. 

Arthur rushed into the great hall, sword swinging; generally making an awful commotion. The guests turned, eyes widening in shock and recognition before they scrambled out of his way, shrieking. But they were insignificant.

He wanted the queen.

Arthur jerked his head around, trying to locate him. As the courtiers fled in all directions, his line of vision widened, and he quickly found his target standing at the head of the room with his king. 

“What the hell is going on?” the King of Hearts appeared to be mouthing, as he peered through the courtiers splitting down the hall like seafoam, toward the source of the chaos.  When his eyes fell on Arthur, Ludwig made the most dramatic expression Arthur had seen him make yet. His ironlike forehead was briefly taken with a surprised twitch of an eyebrow before settling back into its usual state, as he realized the organized, dignified atmosphere he and his queen worked so hard to create was being destroyed. 

“What do you think you’re-” he started, but Arthur had already vaulted onto the scaffold and rushed past him, aiming his sword straight at his queen’s pretty, placid face. 

He wasn’t expecting the Queen of Hearts to also have a weapon, much less to  _ use  _ it.

Arthur was forced to a halt three paces short of him, as a slender sword was pointed between his eyes. 

“This,” said Kiku, “is as far as you go.”

Arthur knocked his sword aside with the flat of his blade. 

“If you’d rather have me as a pirate than a queen, then you’ll  _ have  _ your pirate,” he shouted in his face.

Kiku wrinkled his nose delicately.

“You’re drunk,” he said. “Do you have any idea what you are doing?”

“That’s what your  _ assassins  _ said, too, before I cut them down!”

“Assassins...” mused Kiku. “Now, whatever could you be talking about?”

“I’m the Queen of Spades!” shouted Arthur. “How dare you try to have me murdered! Kill me yourself, if you’ve the  _ stomach  _ for it!”

“You are being unreasonable.”

“Am I!?” 

The room had gone almost entirely silent, as the guests turned their attention to the altercation.

Arthur paced around him. Kiku mirrored his steps, holding the sword at the level of Arthur’s chin. 

“You want to be reasonable?” asked Arthur. “Very well. Let’s make a deal. Fight me, and if you win, you can do what you want with me. Kill me, if you like. But if you lose,  _ I _ get to do what I please to you.”

A bulky shadow came between them, and the King of Hearts stepped in a moment later. 

“Queen of Spades, I order you to stand down. This is ridiculous. Act in accordance with your status,” he said.

“Once this little bastard fights me like a man,” snarled Arthur, gesturing at the Queen of Hearts with his sword.

Kiku’s eyes narrowed. “I have nothing to prove to you.”

Arthur continued to circle him idly.

“No? You seemed so eager though, drawing your sword to challenge me. Or was that just posturing, and you’re waiting for your guards to step in to take over the  _ real  _ fight?”

“There will not  _ be  _ a fight,” barked Ludwig.

“You stay out of this!” snarled Arthur, slashing in his direction with equal ferocity. Ludwig stumbled out from between them, looking properly angry at being opposed. He made a gesture at something behind Arthur. Armor clanked, sounding too close for comfort.

Arthur became increasingly aware of the Heartian guards creeping up behind him, circling him in.

Kiku was tracking Arthur’s movement with his eyes, but he said nothing. 

“Haven’t you trained with some of the best swordsmen in the world?” continued Arthur, pivoting so that the guards weren’t at his back. “You don’t want to show off your skill and how superior it is to mine, fighting neck and neck as queens? Do you want your guests to doubt that the renowned Prince of the Yama can defeat a pirate?”

“There is no question I can.”

Arthur’s lip curled with mirth. “No question? You’ve never faced me before.”

“I will not lose to a mere pirate.”

Behind Kiku, Ludwig spoke up. 

“Don’t be rash,” he said. 

In bold defiance, Kiku placed a second hand on the hilt of his sword, steadying his grasp.

“I forbid you from engaging him,” said Ludwig, louder this time. 

Kiku ignored him. “Do you have any more empty threats, Queen of Spades?”

“I’ve made my point,” said Arthur, pleased that he’d taunted Kiku’s pride enough to be considered a worthwhile opponent.

A flicker of violence ruptured Kiku’s steady gaze. 

“Then die,” he said. 

Their blades crashed together. 

The force of the collision made Kiku’s arm shake. Before he could steady himself, Arthur swung at him again. Kiku caught his second strike, but his blade skipped, and he struggled to hold him back. 

“No question, is there?” Arthur mocked, pressing down against Kiku’s blade. “You can’t even block properly.”

“Because you fight like an idiot,” Kiku hissed back, between their crossed weapons. 

“I’m going easy on you,” said Arthur, sliding his blade teasingly against Kiku’s with a shrill rasp of metal.

Kiku snarled and disengaged, returning for a low strike that was more violent than graceful. Arthur blocked it easily.

“Don’t get angry that I’m better than you,” he said. “I gave you a warning. But if you don't want me to hold back...”

Kiku took a wide step in, closing the space between them with a thrust to his sternum, trying to put Arthur on the defensive. Arthur stepped aside and countered, trapping Kiku in a wristlock. 

He slammed his wrist back and twisted.

There was gritty  _ crack _ , and Kiku cried out in pain. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. He clutched his wrist to his chest. 

Arthur grabbed him by the collar and put his blade under his chin. 

Like that, it was over.

Kiku stared at his sword on the floor, then wide-eyed at Arthur. His open-mouthed shock needed no words. 

“Not as clever with a sword as you thought, are you, love?” Arthur gloated.

Kiku turned as scarlet as his robe. Arthur pulled him close by his injured wrist, eliciting a gasp of pain from the queen.

His head was beginning to clear more. His anger was dissipating, now that he’d made his point. 

Arthur looked over Kiku’s shoulder, out into the crowd, and for the first time, noticed the diverse spread of guests from kingdoms all over.  He wondered what they thought of all this, having been unaware of his presence at the wedding until now. Did they think he broke in just to fight the Queen of Hearts? Destroy his new opponent that threatened Arthur’s position as the all-powerful queen on this continent?  How could he spin this story? Once they all went back to their kingdoms, word of this unprecedented fight would spread around the world. 

Well, far be it from Arthur to deny them a performance. He pulled Kiku closer and raised his voice. 

“A barbarian king with incompetent guards and a warrior prince who can’t defend himself,” he announced, mostly to the wedding crowd. “The Hearts and the Yama certainly aren’t living up to their fearsome reputations.” 

Kiku looked like he wanted to pry Arthur’s fingers off his wrist, but the pain was making him hesitate.

“This is not a proper fight,” he said, struggling to match Arthur’s cadence. “I would-”

“I didn’t come here to have a  _ match. _ This is a  _ demonstration,  _ for all those who think they can cross me,” Arthur snarled back, twisting his dagger so hard against Kiku’s throat, he drew blood. A ripple went through the crowd, gasps and shrieks betraying the collective anxiety.

Another weapon appeared in the mix, as the King of Hearts once again involved himself, pointing his sword at Arthur.

“Enough of this,” he ordered. “Stand down now!”

Arthur smirked at him. 

“I’m no ordinary delinquent. The Spades made the mistake of assuming that too. And like them, you’ll suffer for it. Or rather…” he said, turning his attention back to Kiku, “your queen will.”

In his peripheral vision, Arthur saw the subtle jerk of the king’s hand, and the Hearts guards advanced. They leapt to action to defend their queen, but Arthur was faster, grabbing Kiku from behind and sticking the point of his dagger into his neck, giving him another cut. Kiku’s breath stuttered.

“Not a step closer,” commanded Arthur, turning Kiku to face the crowd. “Or I’ll open his throat.” 

The guards stopped, their blades hovering just out of range.

“Kill me,” said Kiku. 

“Don’t try to posture now,” Arthur laughed. “You’ve already lost.”

Kiku narrowed his brow. “I made no joke. Slit my throat. Death is the only remedy for my shameful loss.”

Intrigued, Arthur pressed the knife harder against his neck.

“You’re not afraid to die?” he asked, scraping the blade up the column of his throat. He flicked it off his chin, nicking him. “Not even in a rough, undignified way like having your throat cut from behind?”

He took a fistful of Kiku’s hair and yanked his head back. Kiku’s throat moved under the blade as he swallowed, but he made no attempt to resist. 

“The touch of cold steel sliding across your throat doesn’t make you quiver?” asked Arthur smoothly. 

He applied a delicate pressure,  _ just  _ breaking the skin. He slid the knife slowly, shallowly across his neck, opening a thin red line in his flesh. Blood spilled out, snaking down Kiku’s clavicle, staining his collar. Like tiny pearls in a necklace, the blood beaded along the wound, shining and quivering against his pale throat. Arthur pressed his knife along the seam of the cut, disturbing the pearls and stopping Kiku’s breath.

The King of Hearts was shouting at him, and the wedding guests were in a frenzy. Kiku, however, was quiet, even as he bled all over himself.

Arthur was fascinated. No aristocrat he had threatened before had been this tenacious. There was immense dignity in Kiku’s calm resoluteness.

“What are you doing?” asked Kiku, his voice as flat and calm as ever. “Won’t you kill me properly?”

“I’d like to have a bit more fun with you first,” whispered Arthur into his ear. “Find your breaking point.”

“That is ill-advised,” said Kiku. 

“Why?”

“If you let me live, I will make certain that you die a wretched death for every insult you have shown me tonight.”

Arthur was about to respond with some equally acidic taunt, when a subtle movement of Kiku’s un-injured arm caught his attention. 

In utter disregard to the knife at his throat, Kiku dropped his stance suddenly and lashed backward.

Arthur reacted- and not a moment too soon. 

Out of pure reflex, he caught Kiku’s wrist just as a sharp object made contact with his inner thigh. It pierced his trouser and dug into his flesh, but didn't break the skin. 

Had the movement not been awkward due to Kiku drawing with his non-dominant hand, Arthur imagined he would be bleeding out beneath him.

It was a hair-raisingly precise strike, regardless. The point of the blade was pressed into Arthur’s groin, over the large artery there. Kiku’s arm shuddered with the strain of trying to break Arthur’s grip and push the blade through. 

Arthur let out a steadying breath, moving his leg away. He wrenched Kiku’s arm behind his back, twisting until Kiku dropped the weapon with a snarl. Where had he gotten a knife, anyway? Arthur hadn’t noticed one on him.

A glance at the weapon on the floor yielded an answer— the knife had a peculiar handle that resembled the slats of a fan. The same fan he’d tucked into his sash when they’d spoken earlier in his quarters.

Arthur clicked his tongue, repositioning his grasp on his own knife.

“Clever. Though you’d never take anyone by surprise with a sloppy draw like that.”

The Queen of Hearts’ gasp punctuated this remark, as Arthur grabbed him by the sash he wore around his waist.

The queen blanched, losing all color in his face as Arthur tore the knot out of his sash and pulled. Kiku grabbed the sash with his good hand, and pulled in the opposite direction.

“This is a distinguished gathering,” he exclaimed, as though their brawl had been inconsequential in destroying the respectable atmosphere, compared with this. “What are you thinking?”

“I won,” declared Arthur. “I want your sash as a trophy. **”**

Kiku made a noise of startled confusion. 

“You agreed, there’s no going back now,” said Arthur.

“I agreed to nothing like that!” protested Kiku, struggling to pull his sash back. 

“No, but I told you the consequence if I defeated you, which was I could do whatever I wanted to you. And I want your sash,” said Arthur. 

“You have defeated  _ nothing,” _ spat Kiku.

Facing away, Kiku’s expression wasn’t visible, but distress presented itself clearly in his trembling limbs.

Arthur wondered, seeing the furious redness dusting his ears, if it was not shame, rather than anger, that made him quiver. The indignant tensing against Arthur’s grasp indicated a readiness to fight back, but the brilliant flush of his skin belied stark humiliation that had been notably lacking at the start of their fight. It was an outrage, an irredeemable offense, to be treated in such an undignified way, and Kiku was struggling to keep his composure.

And yet, Arthur could not be more entranced at his tenacity. This was no simpering, cowardly prince. The Queen of Hearts was a formidable little bastard. In Arthur’s opinion, a proud beauty, fiercely clinging to their dignity, primed to be dishonored, was much more delicious than a whimpering, compliant one. 

And Arthur had plenty of ways to dishonor him.

“I’m surprised you haven’t called your guards for help. I have no interest in killing you. Don’t let your pride get in the way of reason. Modesty won’t stop me, after all,” Arthur crooned in his ear, enjoying the subsequent gasp of disgust from the queen.

“Be quiet!” ordered Kiku, but his plea was drowned out as Arthur cackled in grotesque, leering admiration at his helplessness. He wondered just how many men would kill to be in this same position; how many in the crowd were struck with envy rather than rage, witnessing this defilement. The thought made him hotter, more keen to  _ properly _ defile him where he stood. Hotter still, that Kiku could feel his  _ consideration _ starkly thrust against his supple arse.

“For goodness’ sake, stop that,” demanded Kiku, shifting away. 

“Only if you give me your sash.”

Kiku still hesitated, but hardly out of consideration. Arthur could practically feel the fury radiating off his body. That was more like it. Perhaps if he riled him up enough, the prince would humiliate himself. Save him the trouble. 

“Gods, I love strong-willed boys,” sighed Arthur. “Your resistance just turns me on more. You really think you’re going to win this? I’m a  _ veteran  _ at dealing with royal brats like you. I don’t negotiate, I  _ take. _ ” 

Kiku tilted his chin up and refused to move.

“You’re exactly one insult away from disaster,” taunted Arthur, pressing up against him, so his hips fully aligned with his ass. “How much will the good queen’s pride be worth-- that  _ brave _ refusal to cooperate with the pirate menace-- while he’s being fondled like some whore?”

“As opposed to inviting you to pull my clothes off?”

Arthur grinned. “I wouldn’t hope for an invitation. Your permission is enough.”

“You have my permission to rip it off my  _ corpse _ ,” hissed Kiku. 

“Fine. Forcefully it is, then,” said Arthur. “Come to think of it, I’ve heard stories about the brothels in the Yama… if you pull the sash with just the right amount of force, all the clothes will be flung off in one piece from the momentum. I’ve always wanted to try it out.”

“You are an idiot,” said Kiku.

“I’m going to try it.”

“You shall not!”

Kiku tightened his grip on his sash.

Arthur clamped his knife between his teeth, grabbed his end of the sash with both hands, and yanked it.

With only one good hand, Kiku didn’t have a chance against him.  The sash was whipped out of his hand, and as it unwound, he was sent into a spin.

Arthur pulled hand over hand, unravelling the length, until finally, he whipped the last of it off his waist. 

Dizzy from the momentum, Kiku tottered, before plopping backwards onto the ground. 

To Arthur’s disappointment, his clothes didn't fling off, but his legs had fallen open impolitely with the force of the spin. Kiku noticed his dishevelment, but before he could recover, Arthur stood over him, stepping right between his splayed legs. 

Kiku opened his mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it. He pressed his lips together and glared with downcast eyes. His shoulders trembled. The chrysanthemum in his hair wilted, scattering petals onto the floor.

“Defeat is a good look on you. That resigned expression is rather cute,” simpered Arthur as he furled the brocade around his arm. “You’re strong, Queen of Hearts, but not strong enough.”

“You will be removed from power for this display if the Spades have any sensibility,” Kiku spat miserably, hiding his face behind his sleeve. 

“Do you think you're so important that the Spades will depose their Queen for your sake?” asked Arthur, cackling. “I’d like to see them try.”

He expected some sort of rebuttal from Kiku, but the prince had clearly lost his nerve. All he could muster was a brief, withering glare, as if his defiance mattered anymore. 

Arthur was grabbed from behind. Guards fell on him, and he tried to shoulder them off, but was roughly escorted away. As he was dragged through the crowd, the shock, horror, and revulsion on the faces of the guests told him his point had been made. 

The guards threw him out the back gate. A crank turned, and the iron lattice descended with a resolute clunk. After being in the brightly-lit hall, the darkness outside the palace walls was a bit disorienting. Arthur stood for a moment by the gate, letting his eyes adjust and trying to collect his thoughts. 

The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him rather dizzy. His side and forehead hurt like hell. He’d need stitches for both. 

Gingerly, he brought a hand to his ribs and winced as he felt wetness there. Had he been bleeding all this time? He wiped his hand off on the front of his coat. Something crinkled in the breast pocket. 

_ Oh, damn it. _

He swore and yanked the evidence free, relieved to find only the corner of the papers were saturated with blood.

He swore again. 

_ Really _ , though. All that trouble to get it and come here and he hadn’t done a thing with it. 

He turned and surveyed the grey palace walls, the stone spires and watchtowers, and decided he wasn't getting back in. That was no matter. He would find another way to deliver the evidence. For now, he would have to retreat to the Spades.

Arthur figured he'd be in for it when the wedding ended and the King of Spades returned to the palace, but that was a problem for the future. The feeling of doing something wild and piratical for the first time in months superseded all other emotions at the moment. Though it hadn’t been perfect, today was a victory- one he could leverage to his advantage.

He gathered his effects and rode back to the Spades, triumph buoying him all the way there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a burst of inspiration and decided to continue. We'll see how long it lasts this time!


	8. Publicity

Kiku’s legs wobbled.

Everyone could see them, through the ungainly split in his misaligned robes, as he was lifted to standing with surprising gentleness by the King of Hearts. 

His shoulders were gripped with a tentative pressure as Ludwig asked if he was alright. He didn’t bend down to his level and peer into his face, which Kiku appreciated, but the comforting gesture was awkward. The question was asked hesitantly, perhaps in the hope he would not burst into tears and have to be comforted.

Kiku did not do such things. 

Once the king also realized that he would maintain his composure, he got to the point: 

“You're injured.”

“I am fine,” Kiku said, detaching himself. How dare he try to comfort him in front of all their guests. 

He took a few steps away, and the hall spun. He shut his eyes and prayed he would not faint. If he fainted, it would be one more mark against his strength, his dignity, his  _ family pride.  _ He couldn’t look at anyone directly without a wave of sickness overwhelming him. 

He left the room quickly, but not quickly enough to seem like he was running to hide like he wanted. 

This was not supposed to have happened.  They were not supposed to have fought. The pirate was supposed to have been eliminated and no one would have questioned that Kiku was superior to him in every way. 

He would salvage this somehow. He  _ must  _ salvage this. 

“No one leaves the palace,” Kiku heard his king address the guards behind him, “until this is sorted out.”

In a daze, Kiku stumbled towards the forgiving respite of solitude. Anywhere he could sink to the floor and curl up in the tiniest ball imaginable, without the judgemental stares of his entire peerage.

Shortly, Ludwig came up behind him and, in the privacy of the adjoining hall, caught him by the arm. Kiku was turned briskly to face him.

“Don't ever do that again,” said Ludwig. “You could have been killed.”

Kiku dared to glance up. The king was pale-faced, and his brow was creased. 

“He was not interested in killing me,” mumbled Kiku. 

“Yes, he made that abundantly clear. This is why we don't negotiate with pirates,” said Ludwig. 

He paused after the statement, like something had occurred to him. He shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is my fault,” he said. “I’ll send for the physician. Go rest in your apartment for now.”

“I am fine,” said Kiku. He badly wanted to be left alone. 

“Don't be stubborn. Your wrist needs to be set.”

“It is only a sprain,” protested Kiku, though his badly swollen wrist indicated otherwise. He had broken bones before and was uncomfortably aware of the familiar acute pain that indicated a break.

“Go,” ordered Ludwig. “And keep it still.”

With a stern glare from the king accompanying the demand, Kiku retreated to his chambers. 

In his bedroom, he was examined by court physicians, who set his broken wrist. They bandaged the cuts on his neck, then servants changed his clothes because blood had seeped into the collar of his old robes. Meanwhile, he was reminded that it was time to change out of his ceremonial outfit anyway, and into the one for the reception. At least, this offered some reassurance that the wedding would continue as normal. 

Kiku stared at his ceremonial robes, discarded in a basket in the corner. The mottled stain of blood around the collar was visibly darker than the red silk, and the sight of it filled him with rage.

He had not injured the Queen of Spades at all. He had left not a single cut to show for his efforts. 

And the pirate still had the evidence. 

He had failed to kill the pirate and was worse off for it. 

He failed to kill him, and his secret would be revealed, and the King of Hearts would be disgusted and withdraw his support, and the Yama would be without his kingdom’s troops and the Golden Empire would absorb his kingdom--  _ No, no, no…  _

How had things fallen apart so quickly? His decision wasn’t supposed to come back to bite him, because the pirate was supposed to have  _ died  _ along with the evidence.

He was so caught up in his thoughts he hardly noticed the King of Hearts come into the room. Kiku began to stand, but Ludwig gestured for him to remain seated, and dismissed all the servants. He was wearing an irate expression, and Kiku’s anxiety multiplied. He shrunk back, concerned about what he had discovered.

Ludwig lowered his voice. 

“What was the Queen of Spades saying about an assassin?”

Kiku lowered his gaze to the floor. “I cannot parse the meaning behind his drunken ramblings.”

“Kiku,” Ludwig said, folding his arms over his chest. “The King of Spades’ oldest son, who was with him before he attacked you, has testified that there was an attempt on the queen’s life. He implicated you as the one who ordered it.”

“Why would I have ordered such a thing?”

“I don’t appreciate being lied to,” snapped Ludwig. “No one else knew the pirate was here except for you, and  _ I  _ didn’t order any attack.”

“I-”

“Do you understand the consequences of what you’ve done?” the king asked in a harsh whisper. “What do I say to the King of Spades? That my queen made an assassination attempt on their queen? What the hell were you thinking?” 

“My lord,” said Kiku, as firmly as he dared. “Without evidence of an attack, no one will believe a child and a drunken pirate. My men bore no defining clothing and would not leave behind evidence-”

“So you  _ did  _ send assassins. Why?”

“He threatened me and I lost my temper,” murmured Kiku. 

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed to slits. “It is not your place to dictate those kinds of orders in this kingdom. Think of the legal consequences that could fall on the Hearts for attempting such a thing. Even if the Queen of Spades  _ is  _ a hated pirate, he’s still one of the most important political figures in these lands,” he said.

“Why did you allow him into the palace in the first place?” asked Kiku, taking note of the hard set of his king’s jaw and minding his tone. Prior to the wedding, he had taken special care to impress upon the king that the Queen of Spades was not to be invited due to his unsavory background. Ludwig had agreed he had his own reservations about extending a warm welcome to a notorious criminal, and a man of such despicable repute had no right to be received with anything but disdain. 

So what in the world had changed his mind? wondered Kiku. 

The King of Hearts did not enlighten him, and only growled, “That’s of no concern now. He was one man. This was unprecedented, and should not have happened in my palace.”

Kiku agreed it should not have. But Ludwig had intentionally let the pirate slip through his defenses when he should have turned him away at the gate.

Kiku gazed through his lashes at the king, who was watching him back with his arms folded over his chest; like Kiku was to provide an explanation for the Queen of Spades’ presence at this wedding. 

What had that damn pirate told him?

“I want to know what the hell you were thinking,” asked Ludwig.

Kiku folded his hands in his lap. “It is as I said. He threatened me and I had a lapse in judgement.”

“It must have been a significant threat to incite such a significant retaliation. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the contents of this discussion he was so insistent to have with you.”

“I do not know what he said to you," said Kiku. "The truth is, he only came here to start trouble, and became angry when I would not indulge him.”

He could not explain any more. It would be dangerous. 

Perhaps Ludwig knew this. Without a doubt, the pirate had told him some rumor; gave him cause to view his own queen with suspicion. 

The king’s expression was searching; his face twisted with a hard sort of concern that made him look angry. But he did not push the matter any further, for now. He gestured to the door.

“Fine. Come with me. We have to attend to the publicity for this,” he said.

\---

Upon entering the King of Hearts’ meeting room, several individuals stood out from the chaotic assembly of courtiers and servants: the Hearts’ Captain of the Guard, the ministers of public relations, the King of Spades and his legal counsel. Servants weaved through the crowd, topping off inkwells and wine glasses. The room seethed with frenetic, anticipatory energy that suggested this matter would not be solved without lapsing into hysteria at least once in the duration of the meeting. This did not provide Kiku any comfort as he slunk in just behind his king.

As the chatter died down, and every head in the room turned to him, Kiku’s feeling of lightheadedness returned. He concentrated on measuring his breaths.

No one was gloating. They looked grim and pitying.

_ Poor thing _ , they must be thinking.  _ Poor, defenseless Queen of Hearts.  _

A servant pulled out a seat for him, which he slid gratefully into, and tried not to think about what others were thinking about him.

“I-!” the King of Spades exclaimed from the far end of the conference table, jumping up to address him. He seemed at a loss for words. “I don’t know how to express how appalled I am, at the actions that occurred tonight,” he said vaguely, with exactly the appropriate amount of sympathy in his tone.

Kiku nodded. He understood. Withholding responsibility until responsibility was decided. 

Ludwig, however, decided he was having none of that careful, measured diplomacy the Spades were so fond of.

“An attack like this on my wedding night?” he snarled. His accusation boomed across the table, to where the King of Spades sat. “Clearly, your queen was sending a message to threaten the Hearts. Do you mean to challenge my power?” 

“No. Definitely not,” said the King of Spades quickly. “Or, maybe _he_ did, but _we_ did not expect him to do that.” He gestured at himself and the ministers he had assembled, who nodded in vigorous agreement. 

Ludwig strode up to him, close enough that he  _ loomed,  _ forcing the shorter king back. 

“You don’t seem very confident in your control over your queen,” said Ludwig. “What  _ do  _ you intend to do about him?”

“We’ve been working on ousting him since the moment he became queen,” said the King of Spades. "I know this is a lot to ask at the moment, but you must have more faith in me."

Ludwig’s brow narrowed. “In the first place, I feel like there are many more directions you could have taken than partnering with the worst pirate on the seas.”

The King of Spades shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You never had to face him. I did what was necessary.”

“Except your ill-advised partnership has made him  _ our  _ problem as well.”

“I did not  _ plan  _ for him to attack,” said the King of Spades, clenching his fists.

“You made it a hell of a lot easier for him.”

“And where were your guards in all this? I thought you prided yourself on having an impenetrable kingdom. What happened to your security, King of Hearts?”

Ludwig curled his lip. “Nothing like this has ever happened before. All intruders have been swiftly dealt with.”

“Then you should have a good understanding of the Spades’ predicament as well,” spat the King of Spades.

For a moment, Ludwig seemed prepared to offer an even stronger retort, but the King of Spades silenced him by putting his hands out, palms upward; conciliatory.

“Alright. Fine. We’ll make an uproar against the pirate. A fitting punishment will be administered.”

His admission was met with murmurs of approval from the ministers, and a deep scowl from the King of Hearts.

“You don’t  _ really  _ want to do that, do you? Because then you’d have to take any sort of responsibility for your queen when he retaliates against you,” accused Ludwig. 

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Like you don’t lord supremacy over the other kingdoms of this land. There needs to be a balance of power, and you’re overstepping," said Ludwig. "Taking him on as queen has allowed you to repurpose his misbegotten holdings- ships, wares, land, etc- and dominate more of the seas than you already do.”

“That isn’t-”

“Enough of this pretense. I’ve seen through you," said Ludwig. "As terrible as that pirate is, it’s advantageous to you to absorb his power. He knows it as well. And one assault isn’t skin off your nose as long as it happens in my land.”

“My Lords, perhaps we should return to the matter of publicity…” one of the Hearts’ ministers boldly suggested, and was flatly ignored, as the King of Spades shouted back,

“It wasn’t so long ago that your ancestors were razing cities to expand your kingdom, Ludwig! Your kingdom is built on sacrifice and bloodshed as well!”

“So now this is a sacrifice, that I have to make, for your greater good?” snarled Ludwig. “That’s how you view this damnable attack on my queen?”

“Right now, I can do nothing about the pirate!”

“Unacceptable. I won’t stand for it. What am I supposed to tell my court?” retorted Ludwig.

“Nothing,” Kiku said.

The room lapsed into silence. The King of Spades’ response died halfway out of his mouth, as he turned to look at Kiku. 

There was a great shuffling as half the room likewise turned in their chairs to face him. Kiku was rather impressed that his voice had carried so far. 

“Nothing,” he repeated, like a revelation, coming up with the word in a moment of stunning clarity; the one solution that would render the Queen of Spades’ attack worthless. 

The transcriber’s pen hovered over the parchment, as she looked to him for further explanation. 

“Not a word about the incident,” said Kiku. 

Ludwig was staring at him like he had grown a second head. Kiku nodded once, slowly, at him, to reassure him that he had a plan. When he got a tentative nod in response, he proceeded to explain his strategy.

“This will require everyone’s cooperation,” he began.

\---

When the King of Spades returned to the palace a week later, Arthur was expecting to be punished, but was also expecting to hear good news-_ something something_ _the Queen of Hearts is humiliated, and the King of Hearts is a laughingstock. You’re a drunk and a cretin, and I’m banning you from touching liquor for the next month._

In an unprecedented twist, he got neither.

After two days of silence, Arthur became concerned the king was truly angry and might be plotting against him, and bluntly asked him what he intended to do about the display at the wedding.

“What display at the wedding?” asked the King of Spades flatly, prompting Arthur’s eyebrows to rise beneath his hairline. 

This was unexpected. Had the king really decided to regard it as a horrific embarrassment for the Spades and never speak of it? Had the Hearts threatened him into silence? That seemed unlikely, when the Spades had just as much power to use the event as leverage against the Hearts. It would not be a good look, of course, but ever since Arthur became queen, the Spades' reputation was becoming less of a concern by the day.

Arthur decided to push the matter. 

“Yes, what was the Queen of Hearts’ response to it? And the guests’? Surely there’s nothing but gossip now; and the Queen of Hearts’ reputation must be ruined.”

The King of Spades faced him, his expression cool. He let his eyes slip shut and took a long, deep breath. After a moment like he was mulling over his words, he spoke.

“It seems your display lost its impact after it happened,” he said, in a low tone. “That’s all it was- a shocking display. And if the Hearts didn’t care, then it’s no business of mine.”

Then he left, leaving Arthur open-mouthed. Had he heard him correctly?

The Hearts? Didn’t  _ care _ ?

Arthur felt his excitement draining, his very soul growing cold. 

_ This is just the king’s opinion, surely,  _ he thought, and went to court to hear what the rest of the Spades had to say, which, as it turned out, was absolutely nothing. They seemed to be going out of their way to avoid talking about anything but the good parts of the wedding. It was the same old gossip as usual. 

“You were there? We didn't know of such a thing,” everyone had the  _ gall  _ to lie to his face.

“ _ Didn't know? _ ” wondered Arthur, his irritation growing as he struggled to understand the reason behind this response from the Spades. The same Spades, who, prior to the wedding, were poised to spring at any little mishap of the Hearts for daring to challenge their monopoly on trade with the Golden Empire, were now utterly silent. 

As the days passed, he realized this vow of silence extended beyond the Spades. Even visitors from other kingdoms had developed a curious case of amnesia, and did not recall his presence at the Hearts’ wedding. 

_ How fucking petty, _ Arthur thought.

He knew he was hated, but didn’t realize it was to the extent that so many kingdoms- ally and enemy to the Hearts alike- would rally together to stop him from gaining influence. That  _ was  _ the intent behind this, and it worked in favor of all but him. 

The nobility had collectively decided that suppressing the outsider’s influence was far more desirable than gossiping about the Hearts’ powerful new queen being knocked flat on his arse. And no one could spread word of the Queen of Hearts’ disgrace without drawing attention and notoriety to the perpetrator. 

Arthur clenched his jaw. This was exactly the type of behavior he’d been trying to ward off since he was crowned. Truth be told, it was what made him lash out at the wedding; protesting against the refusal of the nobility to respect his authority as Queen of Spades. He had made his display, made his message clear, but they were electing to ignore it. There were thousands of nobles and only one of him. They could easily disregard him if they grouped together. There was no incentive to heed his authority. If anything, sympathizing with him was social suicide.

Certainly the courtiers were scared of him, though, and more so than ever. He saw it in their eyes; of the ladies who quickly passed him in the hallways, of the gentlemen who gave him a wide berth wherever he went. He’d made an impact, but they didn’t dare speak about him. But they were thinking it: _if he could do that to the Queen of Hearts in a highly guarded palace, he can do it to anyone he pleases. _

He even heard one or two in the drawing rooms, whispering: “his behavior cannot be simply ignored. We were fortunate that it was in the Hearts’ interest to keep quiet. Next time may not be so lucky. His interference may really become troublesome.”

And they were goddamn right he would be trouble. 

The Spades had to acknowledge him at some point. They saddled themselves with the responsibility of making him queen. They also agreed to bear the consequences that came with it. Bearing in mind that horribly distasteful option, the Spades thought it best to suppress him little by little. His resources could be used and he would be a pawn. A loyal queen who answered only to the king.

No one knew what to do with him, and no one wanted to be held responsible for him.

And beneath this all, he was beginning to comprehend exactly how powerful his opponent was, and concluded that he’d completely underestimated him. 

With a snap of the Queen of Hearts’ delicate fingers, his efforts were rendered useless. The Queen of Hearts clearly had immense social power and a formidable reputation, to convince all his guests to keep silent. Could Arthur ever compete with that, as unpopular as he was? 

The Queen of Hearts was a paragon of silent endurance, to swallow such disgrace without being able to seek revenge. Arthur did take some satisfaction in the fact that, to suppress him, Kiku had to quietly accept that he was going to get away with humiliating him.  But somehow, Arthur felt that Kiku had something else planned for him, and he was not going to get away with anything. He sensed that he was watching and waiting, silently, to pounce at an opportune moment. That was cause for concern.

But Arthur had the evidence. 

Alone, in his study, he smoothed out the bloodstained paper on his desk and stared at it.

If he were to play his trump card, he might be successful in getting Kiku out of the picture before he could retaliate. 

He wondered if he’d be better off waiting it out and making Kiku nervous enough to reconsider taking action, knowing he had evidence against him. He could trap him into making a deal.

But this presented another problem: how would he make the evidence public? 

If he published it anonymously, people would wonder about the validity of it. They might gossip, but want to see the source. And when _he _was the one who produced it, it would come across as fake. Some story he made up to start trouble. Because again, no one liked or trusted him. 

Alternately, he could pass it off to someone in the Golden Empire who also hated Kiku but whom the Spades  _ did  _ trust, but for his pride and his own safety, he wasn't going to ask favors of the Empire. Not to mention, handing them the evidence would mean letting them take credit for ruining Kiku, and his pride would not allow that either.

He understood now what Yao was saying. 

_ It will not work. Not coming from someone like you. _

Kiku’s words echoed in his head as well:  _ the opinion of the perpetrator must be valued _ . 

Arthur groaned in frustration and slumped over his desk. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he got very drunk, a solution would come to him.

**\---**

By mid-afternoon, he’d finished off a bottle of gin far too quickly, and had had no new revelations, but he  _ was  _ pleasantly half-comatose. 

He didn’t hear Alfred walk into his study until he shouted his name. 

“Wha-?” said Arthur, jerking his head up from his desk and wincing at the puddle of drool that had managed to accumulate on the surface.

“I’ve said your name like six times. I thought you were dead,” said Alfred. He sounded annoyed.

“Huh,” murmured Arthur, blinking away his drowsiness. “You’re getting bolder. Coming in broad daylight now.” 

He rubbed his forehead, and then his eyes, wishing he had thought to install some curtains in the office to darken the beastly white sunlight shining through the window. He would have to let his quartermaster know-

“Arthur,” repeated Alfred, his tone the same sort of  _ crisp  _ as the sunlight, but twice as annoying.

“Ugh. What the hell do you want?” asked Arthur, burying his face in his palms, and wondering why _now, _of all times-

“Take me sailing,” said Alfred from the doorway. “Now.”

Arthur groaned. “Bloody hell…  _ why? _ ”

“It’s two in the afternoon, are you seriously drunk already?” asked Alfred.

“I wish I was drunker,” mumbled Arthur. 

“You’re gonna sit inside moping all day?” 

“Yes, because it’s fucking freezing,” said Arthur, gesturing at the frosted over window. “Have you not noticed the snow  _ everywhere? _ ”

Alfred picked up Arthur’s greatcoat from the rack by the door and threw it at him. It landed with a sad  _ whump  _ over Arthur’s head.

“Get up, lazy. I’ll be at the docks,” said Alfred, and left. 

After another ten minutes of griping, Arthur picked himself up and followed Alfred out. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it, aside from curiosity. And this sudden request of Alfred’s had made him very damn curious. 

“Why in the middle of the fucking day?” he asked, when he met him on the palace docks. His breath steamed out over the collar of his overcoat, and he shivered. 

Alfred didn’t seem to be affected by the cold at all, and his smile was charmingly bland. “I thought it would be colder and more suspicious if we went at night.”

“ _ Suspicious.  _ Exactly. I’m still not supposed to be around you. Why do I have to go with you at  _ all?” _

“You’re already on my dad’s shit list, this is nothing,” said Alfred.

“You piss me off,” spat Arthur, though Alfred had made a good point. He doubted he could be any  _ more  _ on the king’s bad side than he already was, and he  _ was  _ already standing out in the cold, so he ignored the sideways glances from the guards on duty seeing him with Alfred, and pointed at a sailboat moored a few meters away. 

“What are you staring at? Get that boat rigged!” he demanded, and the dockhands scrambled to comply.

\---

Grey clouds blanketed the sky, and an icy breeze blew off the sea. However, Arthur’s mood improved dramatically just from being on a boat far away from the palace, even if that time was spent tutoring Alfred on how to sail. Honestly, for living on the edge of the sea, this boy wasn’t as boat-savvy as Arthur had expected. 

“Do it like this,” he instructed Alfred, who was struggling to tie down the sail. “Your knots are sloppy.”

“You do it so fast,” Alfred said, handing the ends of the line over and watching him tie the rigging knot. “Even when you're drunk.”

“Naturally. I’ve had years of practice.”

“Being drunk?”

“Quiet, boy. Your turn,” said Arthur. He untied the knot and tossed him the ends of the rope. Alfred fumbled with it for a minute. 

“That’ll do,” said Arthur, when Alfred managed a decent knot and beamed.

Arthur was itching to ask him what he thought about this situation with the wedding and the subsequent vow of silence the nobility had taken. 

Alfred hadn’t seen anything of the fight, and he’d probably just assumed Arthur attacked the Queen of Hearts after fighting off the assassins.  As Arthur understood it, Alfred had been held in a safe location by the Hearts guards until the violence was over. Considering the nobles kept utterly silent about the matter since then, he wondered how much the Prince of Spades really knew.

Privately, Arthur felt relieved that Alfred hadn’t witnessed it.

“Do you think they deserved it?” he tried.

“What?” asked Alfred.

“My... sword swinging rampage at the wedding that no one is talking about?”

Alfred shrugged. “It’s one way to get people to listen to you.”

Arthur was admittedly not expecting this answer. He worked his jaw in confusion.

“So it would seem.”

“Those men that attacked you were sent by the Queen of Hearts- that’s what you said, right?” asked Alfred, taking a seat on the floor of the boat. “Why did he want to murder you? That seems awfully dangerous. Is he just that brave? Or reckless?”

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now,” said Arthur. “He has nothing to show for his efforts.”

There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the flapping of the canvas sail. Alfred had gone very quiet, and was watching him. 

Arthur decided he didn’t like it when Alfred got very quiet like this. 

“You know,” Alfred said, like he’d been considering speaking for a while. “Dad still hasn’t lowered taxes on the farmlands. In fact, they’ve gotten higher. While you were out on an errand yesterday, there was a coalition of farmers here that had an audience with him, complaining about the raised taxes.”

“So?” asked Arthur.

“Don’t you think that’s weird that he’s keeping the taxes up?” asked Alfred. “Even though we’ve partnered with you and absorbed your wealth?”

Arthur drew his fingers across the edge of the sail. “Maybe he likes to keep his rabble in place. The Spades don’t exactly have a history of being pleasant to their working class.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Alfred, after a moment, but didn’t lower his stare. 

Arthur felt wary. 

He did not know the king was having these audiences behind his back. Of course, what the king decided to do with his time didn’t require Arthur’s approval, but he knew exactly what Alfred was implying, by letting him in on this information. Alfred’s intention with this seemingly innocent outing was becoming clear: he’d taken him out to sea alone to tell him about this, where they wouldn’t be heard. _ _

But he had no idea  _ why  _ Alfred was telling him. 

He thought very carefully about his next response. 

Was he being baited? Was it performative? Had his father sent Alfred to gain his trust just so the Spades could mislead him? Alfred was such a capricious little bugger, it was hard to tell if he was sincere. Perhaps he was lying, just to confuse him. See how he would react. 

Because, if it were true, what reason would the king’s son have to give this ostensibly secret information to an enemy? 

_ ‘Sabotage’  _ was a word that came to mind, before Arthur discarded the idea of betraying his father as being too ridiculous even for Alfred. 

Why was he trusting him with this information? Feeding him information because he wanted Arthur’s approval? 

By god, for  _ what?  _ Arthur wondered if Alfred was really so naive that he sympathized with his motives. What was this fool boy thinking?

“Well,” conceded Arthur, feeling useless. “When you’re king, you can do whatever you like.”

Alfred’s gaze continued to linger on him. “You had to get your point across, so you stirred up some trouble. You’re the Queen. You won’t be ignored,” he said.

Tentatively, Arthur nodded.

Sneaking into the Hearts, risking his position, and creating chaos wasn’t enough. The Queen of Hearts was cleverer than he had anticipated. Well-liked, proper, and discreet. And able to make a fool of him, rendering his actions useless without saying a word. 

But Alfred was right. 

_ I’m the Queen of Spades _ , Arthur thought.  _ They can’t ignore me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I can't seem to write chapters less than 4000 words.


	9. Chapter 9

Two weeks passed, and things proceeded normally in the Hearts, thanks to the King of Hearts’ strict and efficient court doctrine. Kiku was grateful for the routine distraction of work seamlessly blending into meals and meetings. 

To an outsider, everything was as it should be.

Yet today-- as he had every day for the past two weeks-- Kiku sat at his desk in his study, feeling very sore and inadequate indeed. 

His wrist throbbed so intensely it set his teeth on edge. It was an unfortunate effect of the sword training he had been putting himself through every morning against the advice of the palace doctors, who could never understand exactly how galling to his pride it was to be weaker than the Queen of Spades. 

But this physical pain was endurable, compared to the disaster that could have been. 

It had taken little effort to convince the nobility to continue hating a man they already hated. Therefore, Kiku elected to consider the fight at the wedding a mere inconvenience. It was beneath his attention now, anyway. 

The situation he was facing now was more concerning- not just inconvenient, but dangerous: the King of Hearts was suspicious of him. 

Ludwig was not a patient man, but he was pragmatic and dignified. He had no evidence Kiku was hiding something from him, and wanted to avoid looking like a fool, alienating his new queen with baseless accusations. That did not stop him from making constant,  _ roundabout  _ attempts to intimidate him into telling him what he was hiding. Sidelining him in discussions. Relegating him to insultingly simple tasks. Denying him full power as queen until Kiku gave in.

It did not take long for Kiku to realize he was weaponizing his authority. For a man who expected complete obedience from his subordinates, not getting the truth must be detestable to his ego. Because that was really what this was about-- retaining control over his queen. 

Kiku had the impression that the King of Hearts had no idea what to do with him. 

There had never been a Queen of Hearts before him, as long as Ludwig had been king, and Ludwig clearly didn’t enjoy sharing power with another monarch. He had a clear method and directionality to the way he ruled his kingdom, and marriage threw a cog in his meticulous system. He seemed to be trying his best to pretend like it never happened while still benefiting from the alliance. Moreso, now that he had to deal with a damaged reputation from a pirate and a disobedient queen. All of which was incurred by taking on Kiku as his partner. 

His reputation as a perpetual bachelor and warmonger, combined with his famous temper, had led to all kinds of frightening rumors. When Kiku had expressed concern about the type of man he would be prior to the wedding, considering how he barged in and demanded his hand, his mother had just faced him resolutely and said:  “A sensible, patient queen will temper him.”

Which was why Kiku had decided to wait his temper out. And improvise a strategy in the meantime. 

After all, that dirty business he had done while the bidding for his hand was still open… that coming to light would destroy his reputation. Things would fall apart quickly for the Yama, after that. The bastion of pride and dignity his kingdom had come to represent would crumble because of him. People would refuse to do business with his kingdom on account of the scandal. Refuse to associate. It would be ruinous. 

He’d gone over and over it in his head, and every time, the outcome was the same. He could not tell Ludwig. 

In which case, his only option was to snipe the evidence out of the pirate’s hands. Then in time, when nothing came of the evidence that had been, Ludwig would be satisfied that Kiku was telling the truth after all; that the pirate had nothing against him, he would feel ashamed that he had believed his delusional lies and drop the matter. 

But retrieving the evidence would not be so easy. For two weeks, Kiku had agonized over it. The issue was _finding_ a trustworthy assassin, as the pirate had killed the men he had brought to the Hearts. He had more assassins at the Yama, but they were halfway around the world; nowhere near the Spades, and bothering with secret correspondence to order an assassination at that distance was time consuming and risky. Not to mention the logistics involved- learning the Queen’s schedule, sneaking into the Spades’ palace, finding where he _kept _the damn evidence. Kiku also had many connections in the Spades court, living in the palace, who would gladly murder the pirate, but he could not trust any of them with his secret. Not to mention, the pirate was incredibly strong. Four of Kiku’s own highly trained bodyguards had been no match for him.

Kiku cursed under his breath, abandoning his desk to pace the floor.

There was a singularly rare sort of courage and strength that came from fighting for one’s life regularly as a pirate that could not be gained from formal training alone. In another situation, Kiku would have found the pirate’s strength admirable. Lately, he just wanted to tear out his throat.

But if there was one thing going for Kiku, it was that time was not of the essence in this matter. He suspected the pirate would have revealed what he knew by now if that were his plan.  He was waiting. Holding the evidence over his head and waiting for better conditions in which he could threaten him again. The question was, when would that condition arise?

\--

An hour later, Kiku was roused from his paperwork by the sound of someone knocking on the door to his apartment. Before his doormen could attend to it, the door burst open. The Jack of Hearts bustled in; a flurry of stylish, colorful garments, his hands flying in gestures at the servants he had brought with him, who were loaded down with trunks. Kiku felt exhausted looking at him. 

The Jack of Hearts-- Feliciano-- was an oddity in this kingdom, and an odder choice for the coveted position of Jack.  Although he was spirited, he was weak and rather frivolous for the man carrying out the administrative duties in a warlord’s kingdom, second only to the monarchs. 

The King of Hearts had introduced him as the cousin of the King of Diamonds. Feliciano held the rank of duke in that opulent kingdom at the southernmost part of this continent, and had obtained his wealth by commanding a fashion empire that was the envy of his competitors.

He was powerful, but one wouldn’t know it, looking at him. He was a chirpy socialite through and through-- skilled at talking and looking good, but so much of an airhead that he was rather inept at his _actual _duties as Jack.

Kiku wondered why Ludwig gave him the position. Perhaps he found something charming in his frivolity. Kiku wondered if the king was lonelier than he appeared. Or he had a passionate side, perhaps. Maybe there was something about Feliciano’s bright attitude that had brought them together. 

“ _ Kiku _ ,” the Jack was chastising. “I can’t believe you’re holed up in your room  _ again.  _ These first few weeks after marriage are essential for the new king and queen to get to know each other!”

Kiku kept his attention on his paperwork. “I get along adequately with the king.”

Feliciano pouted. “I get that you’re both very serious, but couldn't you spare even an hour to hang out?”

“‘Hang out.’” said Kiku. “What does that entail?”

Feliciano plopped onto the chair nearest Kiku with a groan. “Ludwig’s married to his job too. I thought having a handsome husband would drag him away from his work. It isn’t healthy for him. Y’know, the courtiers and I were talking, and we think you’re the perfect match for him. Gentle and soft-spoken and patient…” 

When Kiku did not respond, Feliciano poked him in the side and grinned.

“You’re taming the beast.”

Kiku felt he was doing exactly the opposite, but maybe Feliciano was just trying to be polite.

“Well…” Kiku said, wary of this conversation. “We married for political reasons. A relationship of that sort doesn’t seem to be his initiative.”

Feliciano waved a hand. “Initiative shminitiaive. He’s lonely. You’re lonely. At least spend some time together.”

“I’ll consider it.”

Feliciano smirked. “I knew you’d say that and not follow through, so I planned a date for you two this afternoon.”

Kiku couldn’t stifle a horrified moan. _"Why?"_

Feliciano wilted. “Hey… don’t look so shocked. I needed to intervene.”

Kiku felt his stamina receding at an alarming rate. “You didn’t.”

“You have nothing better to do,” said Feliciano with a shrug. 

“I have documents to sign.”

“Right at 4pm?” 

“...Yes,” Kiku lied.

“You’re so responsible, Kiku,” said Feliciano. “The first day you have time to yourself, and you immediately make excuses to work again. You and Ludwig are like two peas in a pod. I already told him you'd like to take a turn around the forest trail with him this afternoon. So he’s expecting you. Let’s get you into something nicer.”

Kiku stuttered indignantly, and was ignored, as Feliciano was more interested in what his servants had carried into the room. 

“Also, I got you a wedding present,” he said, gesturing at the trunks. “It’s kinda delayed, but you can’t rush art. You can wear it today!”

“Oh, thank you,” muttered Kiku, quietly conceding that he would be taking part in this arrangement. 

As it turned out, Feliciano had designed him entire outfits. There were only three trunks, but no end, it seemed, to the array of clothing within them.

Kiku tried to mask his apprehension as each item Feliciano pulled out was more shocking than the last. 

Of course, it was all extremely fashionable, but Kiku could not say he had the confidence to wear such… complicated outfits.

Apparently finding what he was looking for, Feliciano withdrew a satin robe and thrust it at him. “You can wear this!” 

Kiku frowned. It was flimsy, and did not seem suitable for the weather.

“Is it lined?” he asked, drawing the fabric through his hand, and found that it was not. It was only a double layer of satin. He put it down at once, shocked by the impracticality. 

“It is snowing outside,” he reminded Feliciano.

“Yep!” Feliciano smiled blithely, uncomprehending. 

“Normally, such a robe would be lined for warmth.” 

Feliciano nodded. “I know! It’s for the silhouette. You want it to drape your body, not look thick and shapeless from the lining. The cloak is for warmth,” Feliciano said, tossing him an ermine cloak, which was at best, decorative.

“Yes, but, for a walk in the snow, it is… insufficient,” Kiku clarified, feeling increasingly fatigued. 

Feliciano crossed his arms. “Kiku, do you want to look hot or what? I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously. I thought a badass warrior could brave the cold for the sake of fashion.”

Kiku sighed. “Do you not have something more practical?” 

“Ah, what fun is that?” asked Feliciano. “You should try wearing something cute once in a while. You’ll actually look fashionable now! I was shocked that a prince of your stature dresses so plainly.” 

“What I wear is perfectly appropriate for my stature,” said Kiku, shocked that the Jack seemed to have no trouble speaking to him however he liked.

“Stature. Right.” Feliciano was muttering to himself as he went back to sorting through the clothing. “Maybe something to make your legs look longer…” 

“Oh, enough,” grumbled Kiku, taking up the robe. “This will suffice.”

The faster he gave in, the faster this would be over, he reasoned, as he rung for his valet.

“By the way, you were invited to the Spades’ summit, right?” asked Feliciano, popping his head back up. His question overlapped with Kiku’s thoughts so seamlessly that Kiku at first thought he had imagined it. He blinked. 

“The what?” 

“The summit! That huge gathering the King of Spades does annually, where he invites all the Spades’ allies to his vacation palace and they party for like 2 weeks? It’s one of the  _ biggest  _ events of the year? I know you've gone before. Did you get invited?”

Kiku glanced over at the pile of unread mail teetering on the corner of his desk. He turned back to Feliciano.

“Perhaps. Why do you assume that?”

“Well, Ludwig got an invitation this year, and he’s  _ never  _ been invited. When I became the Jack of Hearts I even stopped getting invitations. So I assumed you must also have been invited. The King of Spades must really value you. And you can bring guests! Bring me! The summit is always so fun. There's dancing and drinking and--” 

“That’s not how I remember it,” said Kiku, cutting him off. “As I recall, it is a business summit for professional networking and maintaining international relations. Parties… happened but I did not attend any.”

Feliciano waved him away. “Kiku, parties are the  _ main  _ reason everyone goes. Twenty-two is already way too old to have missed out. You  _ must  _ go. And bring me! It’ll be so boring, stuck here in the middle of winter, knowing I could be on a yacht on a beautiful clear sea in the south, surrounded by pretty girls…”

As Feliciano drifted into rambling again, Kiku sorted through his mail to be certain he  _ had  _ gotten an invitation. A flash of silver on one of the envelopes caught his eye, twinkling between his other correspondences. He tugged out the envelope, and recognized the silver royal seal of the Spades. He took his pen knife and cut it open, scanning it. It read:

_ To the Honorable Queen of Hearts, Prince of the Yama… Honda Kiku: _

_ You are cordially invited to the 30th annual summit of the Kingdom of Spades, beginning on the 54th day of the Winter Solstice at the Winter Palace... _

He hardly registered the rest of the letter, as something occurred to him. His thoughts were jerked back to the issue of the pirate. A realization-- and consequently, the stirrings of a plan-- hit him with such force, that he had to give it consideration.

If he went to this summit, he would have an excuse to bring a security detail. Every royal had a security detail. It was standard. He could bring one from the Yama, and fill it with assassins. And the pirate would  _ also  _ be there, in a palace Kiku had full access to--

He folded the letter up.

No. This was much too easy. It was like the pirate was taunting him, to come try and face him. Was the pirate behind this particular invite? Of course, as close allies of the Spades, the Yama had always been invited to these summits, but…

Kiku traced the wax seal in thought. 

The pirate was the kind of man who would want to see the face of the person he was humiliating. He would reveal the evidence at the summit, Kiku was certain. If that was the case, then--

He was shaken out of his thoughts by Feliciano grabbing his shoulders.

“...so look,” Feliciano directed, getting to his point. “This outing is serious business. When you see Ludwig, ask him to go. And don't take no for an answer. Plead until he caves.” 

“Wait a moment,” said Kiku. “You… have already asked him to go to the summit?”

“Er… yeah,” admitted Feliciano, scratching his head sheepishly. “He said “we don’t need to show up at the Spades’ ridiculous party and waste two weeks of valuable time”.”

“I...oh,” said Kiku, feeling rather annoyed and dismayed, though the king did seem like the type of person to dislike wasting time, at a party or otherwise. “If that was his decision, why do you think he will give me a different answer?”

“Because you’re his new queen _ .  _ He’s got to make a good impression. I’ve been with him for a while, he’s gotten good at denying me and has no reservations about it now. Doesn’t have to impress me, you know? You might have more success than me.”

“Perhaps,” murmured Kiku. 

Feliciano was right-- Ludwig’s refusal may not be a setback. But then, that was assuming the Jack went to Ludwig and begged him to let him go entirely on the basis that “it would be  _ fun _ ”, and neglected to make a logical, convincing argument as to why his time would be better spent at the Spades. Kiku would not make the same mistake.  The Jack’s ulterior motive with this ‘date’ was annoyingly transparent, but Kiku had made up his mind, regardless.

“I will be late for the outing,” said Kiku, rising to greet his valet, who had just arrived.

“Oh! Right!” said Feliciano, scrambling to gather the garments he had selected.

Kiku allowed himself to be ushered further into his apartment and redressed in a rather more ostentatiously  _ pretty  _ walking outfit. The robe was a passionate white and pink with more silk draping than was strictly necessary, and it was topped with a mink cloak that was mostly ornamental. 

“Is this necessary?” muttered Kiku when he was fully dressed, glancing at his reflection in the full-length mirror. 

Feliciano stepped back and looked him up and down. “You need to look like you want to be approached. You won’t achieve that in all black like you usually wear. You look like a minister instead of a prince.”

_ And now I look like a candy…  _ thought Kiku irritably. He did look nice, in a way, but not in any way he would want to be looked at. Feliciano had a knack for high fashion, but to say it was  _ proper _ was not a distinction Kiku was willing to give him. 

“People will stare,” said Kiku. 

“You're their queen. You're meant to be looked at. Besides,” continued Feliciano, “you're young and handsome. You can get away with wearing frivolous things.”

He opened a velvet case from Kiku’s valet and took out a jewelled hairpin-- silver with strands of tiny, dangling pearls-- and slid it into his hair. 

Situated it in the knot of his bun, it dangled... well, Kiku thought it was rather distracting, the way it sparkled.

“That should sweeten you up enough for him," said Feliciano cheerfully, a t which point it dawned on Kiku exactly why Feliciano was bothering with all this... _excess._

Heat rose in his face.

“I am his queen, not his courtesan.”

Feliciano clicked his tongue. “Well. It’ll soften him up, and you can deliver your  _ very convincing argument.” _

“I will. If he has his reasons to deny my request, my appearance will not convince him. You are shameless.” 

Kiku sat uncomfortably as the Jack continued to arrange his hair. He really did not need to give the king a reason to respect him any less than he did by  _ flirting  _ into getting his way. He pressed his mouth into a line.

“Oh… it’s so obvious, it’s vulgar. What will I say to justify all this excess?” 

Feliciano smiled. “You won't have to say a word. Just looking the way you do right now, he’ll give in to anything.” 

“But… flirting with a man like him…”

“ _ A man like him? _ ” Feliciano laughed through his nose. “Ludwig can act as tough as he likes, but when it comes down to it, he has ordinary weaknesses like any man.”

“It is improper, to assert myself in that way when he has not indicated--” 

“Kiku. We both know you’re not that good,” Feliciano hummed, sliding a pin behind his ear.

Kiku folded his hands in his lap. Something icy settled in his gut. 

There was something about the way the Jack had said it that made him hot and cold at once. But Feliciano was continuing to fuss with his outfit like nothing was out of the ordinary, and Kiku couldn’t say whether he had imagined… something.

“An appeal to his emotions from someone as stoic as you is like an arrow through the heart,” continued Feliciano. “It’s harder to reject his sexy husband who  _ longs  _ for his permission than his partner who comes to him like it’s a business proposal. He can easily decline a subordinate.”

“Right,” murmured Kiku. 

\--

Ludwig looked… resigned. Which Kiku supposed was better than looking disgusted.

“You must be freezing,” said Ludwig, as Kiku approached him at the edge of the gardens. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“I-it is warmer than it appears,” chattered Kiku, wrapping his arms around himself. The weather had warmed up since the morning, but it was still brisk. 

“I can see your legs through it,” said Ludwig bluntly.

Kiku suspected this was intentional on Feliciano’s part, and fixed his eyes on a pile of snow at his feet, just so he didn’t have to meet the king’s eyes. Just to make very clear he was only  _ enduring  _ this, and the outfit was  _ not  _ his idea.

Ludwig sighed heavily. There was some shuffling, and then a cloak was placed on Kiku’s shoulders. 

“Thank you,” whispered Kiku.

“You  _ can  _ say no to Feliciano,” said Ludwig. “It’s always fashion over function with him.”

“Yes. I see that now.”

As Kiku huddled into the warmth of the king’s cloak, it occurred to him that  _ this is also why… giving him reason to lend me his cloak… _

Feliciano really was a mastermind of seduction.

Thankfully, Ludwig moved on from the subject of his appearance before Kiku could keel over in mortification. 

“Feliciano said you had something to talk to me about.”

Kiku nodded. “There is… a matter. I have been invited to the Spades’ annual summit. I--”

Ludwig snorted. “I figured you had. The King of Spades wouldn't risk offending one of his primary allies just because he became a Heart. But I never have and never will support that frivolous enterprise.” 

Kiku glanced up at him. “It’s all quite good and proper, despite what Feliciano may have told you. He may have given you the wrong impression. I have gone before and it is actually--” 

“Are you implying you would like to go?” asked Ludwig.

“Well, that is…” Kiku faltered a little. “With my lord’s permission…” 

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “Our alliance is still new. I would like you to spend more time becoming acquainted with your duties here before you leave for weeks.” 

“It would be a short trip.” 

“The amount of time is not my issue. For now, it would suit you to focus on what you have here, rather than opportunities at the Spades. And I will not place you in the path of their degenerate queen. You’ve endured enough humiliation. And with your fighting hand broken, you’re as good as defenseless.” 

Kiku’s chest smarted with irritation. His wrist gave a painful throb, as if to spite him. 

“It will be healed by then,” he muttered, trying to keep the anger out of his tone. 

“Yes,” said Ludwig, giving him a cool stare. “Conveniently.”

_ Conveniently!  _ thought Kiku bitterly. As if he would  _ deign  _ to brawl with that idiot pirate again, much less travel across the world to do so. What was the king thinking?

“He is of no concern to me,” he said.

“Regardless, you will remain here.” Ludwig frowned at Kiku’s blunt silence. “Does that displease you?”

Kiku averted his eyes, sparing the king his glare.

Of  _ course  _ it did. How condescending.

“My lord,” he said, “would it not make sense for me, as a prince from a kingdom that gets along well with the Spades… to cultivate relationships for the Hearts?”

Ludwig folded his arms over his chest. “I get the sense that you’re distracted. More distraction won't do you any good.”

“But a relationship with the Spades--” protested Kiku.

“When have I indicated that is something I desire?”

“Then… I would like to rebuild my public image. As a new queen, it is prudent to connect with our associates and give a strong image. I cannot make it look like I am hiding with shame because of the pirate.” 

“See?” Ludwig gestured at him. “You’re not thinking about business. It’s coming back to the pirate.”

Kiku was starting to lose his patience. Was Ludwig being stubborn about this to  _ spite  _ him? He tried not to let his desperation slip into his tone, but he didn’t think it was convincing.

“I--” he said.

“I know why you want to go,” said Ludwig. “You’re not finished with him.”

Kiku bit his lip.

Ludwig nodded at a clearing at the edge of the woods. “Coincidentally, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something too.”

Kiku stared at the parchment, stamped with the lotus seal; all the details laid out obscenely in front of him.

“I got this a few nights ago,” said Ludwig. “I’ve been taking it in. I believe I understand the implications, but I want to hear it from you.”

Kiku schooled his features into a vacant expression.

Of course, logistically, it would be difficult for some pirate to get people talking about this drama. But to mail documentation straight to his  _ king  _ of all people! How much of an idiot could one man be?

He had even attached a helpful note:  _ I wasn't lying. Unlike your own queen. _

That overzealous, meddling idiot. Kiku wanted to spit. 

But he was prepared for this, and kept himself collected, even as the parchment dampened under his fingers. 

“Implications? Is your queen’s word not enough?” he asked.

Ludwig frowned. “It is not the truth.”

“What does my lord think is the truth?”

“That you wanted the Queen of Spades dead. Because of that.” He nodded at the paper.

“Because he upset me, my constitution was weak and my judgement was impaired,” Kiku said.

Ludwig was watching him closely. “So why were you so insistent that he not attend the wedding? And why would he go to such pains to sneak in regardless?”

“I could not say what his motives were.”

“I can. Earlier in the night, before the ceremony, he told me that you had some unsolved business with him.” Ludwig tapped the papers. “And you didn’t want me to find out.”

“My,” said Kiku. “You’re going to believe a pirate over your own queen?”

Ludwig exhaled impatiently. “You can stop this facade. I already spoke to your retainers and they have no knowledge that this side trip of yours occurred, nor that you were subjected to an attack by this pirate. Your presence in this event is conspicuously absent from any official news sources. This is the last time I’m asking what exactly your role in this situation was, and why the Queen of Spades is making it my problem too.”

Kiku felt his resolve crumble a bit. “I could not say, Your Majesty.”

Ludwig glared at him.

“I don’t like that I allied with a person who has no issue lying to my face and scheming behind my back. You know that’s treason?”

“Were that the case, could you afford to punish me?” retorted Kiku, in desperation.

_ That  _ is a direct challenge to authority, but Kiku didn’t care. This was for his survival. Moreover, it was  _ true.  _ The King of Hearts couldn’t afford to jeopardize this alliance. If he tried to ruin Kiku, the Hearts would go down with him.

Ludwig marched over to him, and stood very close. He was  _ huge _ , but Kiku didn’t flinch. 

“I’m just lucky that you accepted my proposal,” Ludwig rumbled. “That’s what I’ve been hearing. I don’t like that people suddenly have the impression my power is predicated on serving your every whim.”

“I can imagine that must be difficult for a king of your stature,” said Kiku.

“Are you mocking me?” Ludwig was glaring daggers. 

Kiku did not know how to salvage this. He could not afford to rile him up until he exploded, even if it meant he wouldn’t discover the secret. He tried to de-escalate.

“This accusation is nothing you should waste your time on,” said Kiku. “For all it matters to you, I wanted him dead simply because he was a pirate and he dared insult me. His status means nothing to me, and he does not deserve the queenship.”

“You had an affair,” said Ludwig. “Didn't you?”

Kiku stuttered.

“And you lied to my face about it, putting my kingdom at risk to defend your secret.”

Kiku felt like he was floating. His head swam with the beginnings of disassociation. 

“Well!?” barked the king, snapping Kiku out of his state and into a flustered explanation. Not because Ludwig deserved to know the details, but because Kiku would not stand for it if his king was left to assume that he had not had an affair for a very good reason.

“At that time,” began Kiku haltingly, “I had not expected you to propose. It was very sudden, and I was so sure that he--”

“You had not yet announced your engagement, and you slept with him anyway,” said Ludwig flatly.

Kiku glared at him, hot all over from dread and mortification.

“I had a reputation to uphold.”

Ludwig made a face. “And what would your reputation look like if he had refused to marry you after being indecent with you?”

“I think you have misunderstood. For the security of my kingdom, I have made difficult choices. This… dalliance was one such choice, that I would not have had to make if...”

Kiku clenched his fists at his sides.

“...if I had married the King of Spades.”

“What?” Ludwig’s frown receded immediately, and he stared at him. Kiku took that as a sign he was allowed to explain himself.

“It would have been the ideal alliance for my country,” he muttered, casting his eyes down at his lap, not wanting to sound ungrateful. “However, the king backed down due to pressure from the Golden Empire, who threatened to cut off exports if he allied with their enemy kingdom. So we turned to another suitor at the time, the sultan. It is shameful to say, and my family kept it quiet so you could not have known, but he offered me much less than the King of Spades would have for my hand. So… as my lord can imagine…” 

“What do you mean by ‘less’?” interjected Ludwig.

“The sultan has a powerful army, but was unwilling to go up against the Empire. But… for  _ that…  _ and the promise of an alliance with my kingdom… he promised he would.”

Ludwig was silent for a long moment. 

Then he sighed and turned on his heel, walking out of the clearing. 

“Be that as it may, your honesty would have been appreciated before the wedding,” he grumbled over his shoulder.

Kiku hurried after him. “There are some things that one cannot say.”

“Why not?”

“Think of my position. If you had refused on the basis of--”

Ludwig stopped and turned to him, exasperated. “I came to you, with the intention of securing an alliance no matter what. I was not in a position to refuse. Besides, you did it before I had any claim on you. The way I see it, you caused yourself and I a mountain of unnecessary trouble because you weren’t honest from the start.”

Kiku’s grip tightened on the parchment. “I could not have foreseen how you would react. Not all kings are so forgiving of someone who… has done such a thing before marriage.”

Ludwig looked offended at the suggestion that he might be one of those kings. “If you’re planning to put my kingdom at risk over whatever stupid, archaic pretensions you imagine I have, then perhaps next time, you should  _ reconsider _ . Or  _ ask  _ my opinion _ , _ ” he growled.

Kiku felt that was unfair to expect. And humiliating. As if he would bluntly broach the topic over tea--  _ by the way, dear fiance, I’m not a virgin. _

He was about to express his distaste for the notion, when Ludwig extended a hand to him.

Kiku realized, after a moment, that he wanted the document. He handed it to him, and watched as Ludwig struck a match held it up to the paper. The edge of the parchment caught fire, blackening and curling in on itself.

“Is this the only record of it?” asked Ludwig.

“Yes,” said Kiku, and dearly hoped it was so. 

“Good.” Ludwig turned his attention back to the flaming parchment. “Then we’ll consider it forgotten.”

Kiku nodded loosely, a bit startled at his abruptness. The wind blew a strand of his hair loose, flinging it against his cheek. He tucked it behind his ear, and shivered a bit, suddenly feeling giddy.

Well, well. 

The pirate had  _ nothing  _ to threaten him with now. It was over. The fool had wasted his trump card. The King of Hearts was not angry with him. All was well.

The wind worked his hair loose again, and Kiku absentmindedly brushed it back into place behind his ear, wishing Feliciano had pinned it better.

Kiku felt the king’s gaze settle on him. approximately between his ear and the side of his neck, following the motion of his fingers.

“Is something the matter?” asked Kiku, glancing up.

The king looked away. “No. You may go.”

Kiku bowed, thinking he’d been dismissed.

“To the summit,” Ludwig specified.

Kiku raised his head.

“The King of Spades clearly expects your presence there,” said Ludwig. “And you demonstrated you have practical reasons for going. Perhaps you could make some useful connections, now that  _ this” _ \--he nodded at the scrap of burning parchment-- “is not standing in your way.” 

Something fluttered in Kiku’s stomach. “Of course. My lord is most gracious.”

“And Kiku?”

“Yes?” 

Ludwig’s look of resignation had returned. “Take Feliciano with you. If he’s left behind I’ll never hear the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the long azz internal monologues. They will be a recurring feature of this fic. I keep justifying them to myself by saying “yeah kiku and arthur are introspective af” but the truth is, I just like writing people who think to themselves for 12 paragraphs.


End file.
